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STERLING 
DIALOGUES 


A  CHOICE  COLLECTION  OF  ORIGINAL  DIALOGUES 
^  SUITABLE  FOR  DAY-SCHOOLS.  SUNDAY-SCHOOLS, 
LYCEUMS.   ANNIVERSARIES,   HOLIDAYS.   ETC. 


Co  moiled  bv 

William  M.  Clark 


>•" .  • 


:         ■        •  ■    .  ■•..;-.•  ',:    ••   '..  •' 

..     .    .    ;  •  .  •  •   •••  •      • 

...     •_  '    •  •     •  •  •  • 

Philadelphia    ^^ 
The    Penn    Publishing    Company 

1U2!) 


149248 


Copyright  1898, -by  The,  Penn  Publishing  Company 


Cb45 


CONTENTS 


tAMM 

Old  Hbads  on  Young  Shouldebs  .  Mrs.  Louise  E.  V.  Boyd  .     5 

Just  from  thb  City H.  Elliott  McBride   ...    13 

Tbusty  and  True Mrs.  Clara  A.  Sylvester    .    20 

Unappreciated  Genius Millie  M.  Olcott 28 

Thb  Discontented  Girl?    ....  Mrs.  J.  E.  McConaughy  .    34 

Colorado — Acting  Charade    .   .   .  Millie  M.  Olcott 35 

A  Pair  op  Lions Harry  H.  Cushing    ...    37 

The  Conjugating  German     .   .   .  Vale  Chester 48 

Whekb  there's  a  "Will  there's  a 

Way — Dramatic  Proverb     .   .   .  Sophie  May £»0 

Other  People's  Chudren  ....  Mrs.  E.  R.  A 58 

Good  Maxims .62 

The  Floral  Guide — A  Tableau    .  Millie  M.  Olcott 63 

The  Three  "Wishes Edward  Traill  Horn    .   .    64 

Turn  About's  Fair  Play  ....  Haltie  Herbert 67 

Frightened  at  Nothing 74 

Boarding  'Round Phila  H.  Case 78 

Alice's  Party Eliza  Doolittle 82 

Who's  THE  Poet? Kate  Woodland 86 

[  Guehs  I'm  the  Man Laura  S.  Parsons  ....    90 

Mischief — Dramatic  Charade    .   .  T.  A.  E.  Holcomh     ...    92 

Uncle  Deal's  Lecture Alice  A.  Coale 100 

Tnr.  Fairy  Qckkn's  Decxsion    .   .  Mrs.  Louise  E.  V.  Rmjd  .  104 
The  Sbcond  Phizb U.  EUioti  McBride    ...  107 

8 


4  CONTENTS 

'Washinqton*s  Vision — ^Tableau    .  Amanda  P.  Sdkrig  .   .   .  113 

Cubing  an  Invalid 115 

Little  Folks'  Opinions H.  Elliott  McBride  .   -  .  119 

The  Doctor's  Choice Alice  M.  Ball 121 

The  Unwelcome  Guest H.  Elliott  McBride  .  .   .  126 

Not  What  he  Wanted J.  D.  Vinton 131 

Saved — Dialogue  and  Tableau 139 

Two  Ways  of  Telling  the  Samb 

Thing Mrs.  E.  B.  Duffey    ...  145 

Aunt  Debby's  Speculation    .   .   .  Mrs.  J.  E.  McConaughy  .  152 

Illinois — Acting  Charade 161 

The  Young  Debatees H.  Elliott  McBride  .  .   .  163 

The  Two  Dolls Mrs.  Louise  E.  V.  Boyd  .  170 

The  Census  Taker Millie  M.  Olcott 173 

The  Returned  Brother n.  Elliott  McBride  .   .   .179 

After  a  Fashion Mrs.  E.  B.  Duffey    .   .   .  183 

A  Fbightenbd  Lodg£b 166 


STERLING  DIALOGUES 


OLD  HEADS  ON  YOUNG  SHOULDERS. 


CHARACTERS :— Mrs.  Grimshaw,  fussy  old  Lady. 
Polly,  her  Step-daughter. 
Joe,  Polly's  Brother. 
Fannie,  Polly's  Cousin. 
Elihtj  Goahead,  fopjiish  old  Gentleman. 


Scene. — Mes.  Grimshaw,  in  cap  and  spectacles,  and  a  letter  is 
her  hand,  which  she  opens  and  reads  with  much  apparent  satis- 
faction. 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — (  Calls) — Polly !  Polly ! 

Enter  Polly,  looking  much  frightened. 

Polly — Well,  ma'am !  (Going  to  sit  down.) 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — Don't  sit  down  till  I  give  you  per- 
mission.    How  pert  you  are  ! 

Polly — I  didn't  mean  to  be.     Do  you  want  me? 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — Yes,  I  do  want  you ;  I  want  you 
particularly  ;  I  want  you  on  this  occasion  to  give  me  your 
undivided  attention  ;  I  want  you  to  be  serious  ;  I  want  to 
confide  to  you  a  subject  of  the  greatest  importance:  and 
now  you  may  sit  down.  (Polly,  sitting  down,  bursts  into 
a  little  laugh,  but  tries  to  conceal  it  by  turning  it  into  a 
cough.)  Why,  what  a  cough  you  have  to-day  !  You 
must  bathe  your  feet,  and  take  some  red  pepper  tea,  and 
put  a  piece  of  red  flannel  around  your  throat,  and  wear 
your  night-cap ;  it  is  just  perversity  in  you  not  to  wear  a 
night-cai)^every  discreet  young  lady  does  wear  a  niglit- 
cap;  they  are  very  becoming,  too,  and  the  broader  the 

5 


§  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

frill  the  better  they  look.  (Polly  again  laughs,  but 
ends  by  coughing.)  Oh,  what  a  cough!  It  must  be 
attended  to.  But  now  we  will  proceed  to  business.  Sit 
up  straight ;  fold  your  hajids  ;  your  hair  is  not  as  smooth 
as  it  should  be,  your  collar  is  a  little  crooked.  Let  me 
see  your  shoes  ;  nothing  speaks  as  vrell  for  a  young  lady's 
neatness  as  for  her  shoes  to  be  neatly  laced.  Polly, 
here  is  a  letter  from  ray  respected  friend,  Mr.  Elihu  Goa- 
head  of  Goaheadville.  He's  as  rich  as  a  lord,  and  a 
great  catch,  I  assure  you.  Yes,  Polly,  you  might  search 
through  the  world's  lotteries  a  long  while  before  you  could 
draw  such  another  prize  as  Mr.  Elihu  Goahead. 

Polly Ha!  ha!  ha!      Oh,  what   a   name!  what  a 

name! 

Mes.  Grimshaw — What  a  name!     Indeed  it's  a  very 

good  name. 

.     To-Li-Y— (Still  laughing) — It  is  too  funny  for  anything ! 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — Stop  your  laughing,  you  frivolous 
simpleton.  I  wont  have  it.  Have  you  no  propriety  at 
all  ?  My  mother  never  laughed  herself,  and  never  allowed 
her  children  to,  and  they  rewarded  her  care  by  being 
very  proper  people,  very  indeed.  Ah !  dear  me,  what  my 
trials  are  since  I  became  your  step-mother.  Just  to  think 
of  a  girl  of  sixteen  laughing  right  in  my  face  at  the  name 
of  my  friend.  People  can 't  help  their  names.  Suppose 
your  name  was  Polly  Pickle,  I  guess  you  couldn't  help 
that. 

Polly — (Again  laughing) — No,  I  couldn't  help  it,  but 
I'd  laugh  at  it.  Polly  Pickle!  I'd  die  laughing  at  that 
Ha !  ha !  ha ! 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — Hush !  hush !  listen  to  me.  (  Open- 
ing the  letter,  adjusting  her  glasses,  and  looking  at  Polly 
idth  a  severe  expression.)  Here,  now,  is  a  chance  for  you. 
This  old  gentleman — 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  7 

Polly— Old  !     Is  he  old  ? 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — He's  not  a  boy,  nor  a  flirt,  nor  a 
scamp,  nor  a  fop  such  as  you  would  pick,  but  he  is  my 
friend,  respectable  and  responsible,  Mr.  Elihu  Goahead. 

Polly — {Slowly) — Mister  I-like-you  Go-a-head ! 

Mrs.  Grimshaav — Polly,  this  is  wasting  time.  At  one 
o'clock  my  old  friend — 

Polly — (In  an  undertone) — Old  !  old ! 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — He  Avill  be  here,  and  I  will  have  a 
splendid  dinner — turkey,  oysters,  coffee,  cakes.  If  you 
do  n't  receive  Mr.  Goahead  as  you  should,  you  will  lose 
not  only  the  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand,  but  all  the  good 
things :  for  remember,  I  will  send  you  to  your  own  room 
and  there  serve  you  with  nothing  but  bread  and  water, 
until  you  learn  to  be  something  less  of  a  child,  something 
less  of  a  tom-boy,  I  may  say,  for  a  tom-boy  you  are,  and  it 
all  comes  of  your  intimacy  with  your  hopeful  cousin 
Fanny ;  understand  that  hereafter  my  doors  will  not  be 
open  to  her,  and  you  sha'  n't  visit  her,  and  I  '11  send  your 
brother  Joe  off  to  school.  Yes,  I'll  revolutionize  this 
vt'hole  concern.  Your  father  says  it's  no  use  to  try  to  put 
old  heads  on  young  shoulders ;  but  I'll  show  him  I  can 
do  even  that!  (She flings  the  letter  into  Polly's  lap,  who 
reads  it  over,  while  Mrs.  Grimshaw  arrays  herself  in  bon- 
net, shawl  and  gloves.)  Polly,  I  will  now  start  for  the 
railway  station.  Do  you  go  and  dress  yourself  neatly, 
and  be  ready  to  receive  Mr.  Goahead ;  and  when  you  are 
established  in  his  fine  house  you  will  thuuk  me  for  all 
this.     Be  discreet  for  once,  Polly,  do  be  discreet  for  once. 

Polly — Oh,   to  be — ha  !     ha  !     Oh,   to   be  sure — ha ! 
ha!   ha! 

{As  the  old  lady  turns  around  threateningly,  the  laugh 
becomes  a  cough.'] 

Mrs.  Grlmshaw — Polly,  I  ^o  now  ;  remember  what  I 


8  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

say.  You  may  be  Mrs.  Elihu  Goahead  if  you  will,  oi 
you  may  find  yourself  living  on  bread  and  water  in  your 
own  room,  while  turkey,  and  oysters,  and  coffee,  and 
pleasant  society  will  be  the  order  of  the  day.  You  must 
try  to  have  an  old  head  on  young  shoulders.  [^Exit. 

Enter  Fanny,  with  a  great  bound,  her  hat  flung  hack  on 
her  shoulders,  hair  in  disorder,  and  without  hoops. 

Fanny — So  old  Grim 's  gone,  has  she  ?  I  dodged  her 
nicely,  came  in  the  back  door  as  she  went  out  of  the  front ; 
but  what  have  we  here  ? 

Polly — Fanny,  Fanny,  I  wish  I  was  nobody.  She  has 
gone,  but  she  will  be  back,  and  you  must  go  away.  She 
says  you  sha'  n't  come  here  any  more. 

Fanny — {Throwing  off  her  hat) — But  I  will.  This  is 
my  uncle's  house,  and  you  are  my  own  cousin.  Let's 
have  some  fun.     Where's  Joe?     Come,  brighten  up. 

Polly — Fan,  look  here;  look  at  this  letter.  She's 
gone  now  to  meet  this  friend  of  hers. 

Fanny — (Glancing  at  the  letter) — For  ever  and  ever! 
This  is  fine !  Mr.  Elihu  Goahead,  his  name  is  spelled  to 
a  T,  for  it  should  be  goat-head.  A  precious  old  hunks 
he  must  be.     Is  he  rich  ? 

Polly — Rich  as  a  Jew,  and  stupendously  proper.  I 
hate  him. 

Fanny — "When  did  you  see  him  ?  and  why  do  you 
hate  him  ? 

Polly — I  never  saw  him ;  I  never  want  to. 

Fanny — Now,  don't  sigh  or  groan,  or  I'll  leave.  Just 
draw  him  on,  and  make  fun  of  him.  /  would ;  I  wish 
I'd  half  your  chance  for  fun.*-  i'(\.  lead  old  Grim.  A 
dance  would  do  her  good.  I  'd  take  the  starch  out  of  her. 
Let 's  have  some  fun  ;  there  comes  Joe.  Joe,  here ;  Joe, 
come  ia  and  let  us  have  a  real  high  time !  Polly  is  as 
solemn  as  a  tombstone,  all  because  she  is  to  have  a  rich 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  9 

beau,  a  lordly,  grand  old  soul,  beautiful  as  the  day,  for 
all  we  know. 

Enter  Joe,  his  coat  badly  torn. 

Polly — O  Joe,  what  will  our  ma  say  to  that  coat  ? 
how  did  you  tear  it  so  ? 

Joe — Easy  enough.  I  saw  the  old  sweety  coming  down 
street,  and  thought  it  time  to  scatter  off;  so  I  took  to  the 
fence,  and  there  my  coat  ketched,  and  I  could  just  hardly 
get  away  before  she  saw  me. 

Fanny — Fol  de  rol !  who  cares  for  a  coat  ?  I  say,  let 
us  start  a  good  romp  and  shake  the  cobwebs  out  of  Polly's 
brain.  Oh,  we  have  a  new  play,  Joe  and  I,  such  a  good 
new  play  !  Polly,  come  on,  take  it  easy ;  every  body  has 
to  have  beaux  some  time.  Don't  fret  though,  Polly,  till 
he  is  really  here,  and  no  help  for  it.  Who  knows  ?  maybe 
the  cars  will  run  off  the  track  or  something  else  turn  up. 

Joe — Come,  Polly,  this  is  a  new  play.  Oh,  first  rate! 
Here  are  some  strings.  Fanny,  tie  her  hands  behind  her, 
and  now  we'll  just  show  her  what  fun  is!  {Produci7ig 
fstrong  cord,  they  tie  Polly's  hands  behind  her,  all  laugh- 
ing in  great  glee.  JoE  looks  out  and  says ;)  My  gracious, 
who  'd  'a  thought  it  ?     Dear !  oh,  dear ! 

Polly — What  is  it,  Joe? 

Joe — The  old  lady  and — and  an  old  fellow  along  with 
her.     This  is  a  jolly  go ! 

Polly — Undo  my  hands ! 

Fanny — (  Trying  hard  to  untie  the  knots) — I  can  not, 
to  save  my  life,  loosen  this! 

Polly — Oli,  I'm  undone,  I'm  undone! 

Joe — No,  you  're  not,  by  a  good  deal ! 

Fanny — (liumviaglng  a  work-basket) — The  scissors,  the 
scissors,  they're  not  here. 

Polly — Joe,  your  knife,  your  knife,  quick. 


10  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Joe — (  Carelessly) — I  traded  it  for  a  quart  of  chestnuts. 

Polly  —  {Angrily) — Are  you  both  possessed?  Get 
me  loose,  I  say !  I  wont  put  up  with  this !  Joe,  I  '11 
tell  ma ! 

Joe — Ha !  ha !  ha  !     Never  saw  such  fun  in  all  my 

life.     Girls  in  a  scrape,  and  don't  know  how  to  get  out. 

Our  lady  ma  will  quite  forget  my  toi'n  coat,  when  she 

sees  Poll's  predicament.  (Sings:) 

Hey,  Polly,  don't  you  feel  jolly? 
Don't  you  feel  jolly,  pretty  Polly? 

[Fanny,  flying  at  Joe,  boxes  his  ears,  and  turns  him 

out ;  he  looks  in  once  more  to  say :] 

Joe — They  're  inside  the  gate ;  I  wish  you  a  happy 
time  of  it. 

Fanny — (Soothingly)  —  Polly  dear,  don't  fret.  I'll 
make  this  all  right.  I  was  n't  born  in  the  woods  to  bo 
scared  by  an  owl.  Trust  me ;  now,  here.  (  Thrusting  her 
liands  through  Polly's  arms.)  See,  there 's  nothing  like 
a  little  strategy.  How  fortunate  that  I  have  no  hoops 
on.  You  talk  now,  I  will  do  the  gestures,  and  get  you 
through.     There  they  are  ;  be  calm  and  cool ;     I  am. 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — (Bringing  Mr.  Goahead  forward) 
— Mr.  Goahead,  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  presenting  to 
you  my  daughter  Polly.  She  is,  I  must  assure  you,  Mr. 
Goahead,  a  very  discreet  young  person.  Indeed,  I  might 
?ay  that  with  her  I  have  succeeded  in  putting  an  old 
head  on  young  shoulders. 

Mr.  Goahead — (Approaching,  shakes  hands) — Mir 
Polly,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  and  you  have  (Still  holding 
hei-  hand),  you  have  a  very  beautiful  small  hand.  I  love 
a  small  hand.  (Takes  a  rose  from  his  button-hole.)  Here, 
Miss  Polly,  accept  this  little  tribute  to  beauty,  inhale  its 
fragrance,  and  tell  me  if  you  are  not  an  admirer  of  nature, 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  11 

IHere  Mrs.  Grimshaw  gives  Mr.  Goahead  a  chair, 
and  pushes  one  toward  Polly,  who  seats  herself  in 
Fanny's  lap  on  it.} 
Polly — (Smelling  the  rose) — I  am  an  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirer of  nature,  Mr.  Goahead.    The  flowers  at  my  feet,  the 
stars  in  the  blue  heavens  above,  the  far-off  hills,  these  near 
streams  hurrying  on  to  the  ocean,  all,  all  enchant  me ! 
\_Duri71g  this  speech,  Fanny  As  profuse  in  gestures.l 
Mr.  Goahead — Upon  my  word,  you  are  quite  eloquent. 
[  love  eloquence.     Time  would   pass   swiftly  with  you, 
miss;  but  let  me  see,  what  time  it  is?     (Takes  out  his 
watch.)     My  watch  has  stopped.     "What  time  have  you, 
Miss  Polly  ? 

Polly  —  (As  the  hands   take  out  her   watch) — Half 
past  two ! 

[^Puts  the  watch  hack,  takes  her  handkerchief  from  her 

pocket  and  wipes  her  mouth,  bursting  irito  a  little 

laugh,  which  turns  to  a  cough.} 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — (Stamping) — Polly,  something  must 

be  done  for  that  cough.    You  had  better  take  some  pepper 

\ea,  and  eat  nothing. 

[Joe  is  now  seen  behind  Mr.  Goahead  and  Mrs, 

Grimshaw^  with  a  hirge  butcher-knife  in  his  hand, 

making  signs  as  if  to  cut  off  the  old  gentleman's 

head,  which  imreases  Polly's  cough,  and  Mrs. 

Grimshaw,  growing   uneasy,  steps  forward   and 

calk  to  the  cook  to  hurry  dinner  ;  and  standing  in 

the  doorway,  seems  to  give  many  directions.     Mk. 

Goahp:ad  has  taken  up  a  magazine,  and  turning 

the  leaves,  asks ;] 

Mr.  Goahead  — Miss  Polly,   here  are   a  number   of 

bridal  costumes  given;  now  tell  mo  how  you  think  a  bride 

should  bo  dressed. 

Polly — In  white,  pure  white,  with  a  double  skirt;  and 
the  orange  blossom  wreaths  should  be  not  only  on  the 
brow,  but  all  about  the  floum-es;  aud  the  slippers  of  satin; 


12  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

and  the  veil  floating  around  the  form,  should  be  of  the 
finest  lace;  and  a  costly  brooch  of  pearls  should  rest 
above  the  heart.  (Many  gestures.) 

Mr.  Goahead — The  picture  is  heavenly ;  yes,  too  hea- 
venly !  Oh,  how  I  long  to  gaze  upon  it !  But,  lady,  let 
me  place  upon  your  slender  finger  this  ring. 

(He  draws  it  off.) 
Polly — No,  thank  you  ;  oh,  no !     (He  attempts  it,  but 
the  hands  close  tight.) 

Mrs.  Grimshaw — (Alarmed  for  the  result,  announces 

dinner  ready,  and  saying,  affably :) — Mr.   Goahead,  give 

yrour  arm  to  Miss  Polly,  and  follow  me.  (  Goes  out.) 

Mr.  Goahead — Miss  Polly,  please  honor  me  by  taking 

oay  arm. 

[J.S  he  offers  it,  Joe  steps  nimbly  forward,  cuts  the 
cord,  and  Polly  taking  the  old  gentleman's  arm, 
they  march  out,  leaving  Fanny  and  Joe  standing 
together  on  the  stage,  looking  at  each  other. 1 
Joe — My  goodness!     And  so  this  is  our  new  play. 
What  a  one  it  is  !     What  do  you  call  it  ? 
Fanny — "  Old  heads  on  young  shoulders ' " 

[  Curtain.'] 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  13 

JUST   FROM   THE   CITY. 


CHARACTERS :— Sam  Jones,  country  Rustic. 

Erastus  Blinknat,  city  Swell. 
Eva  LENA  Evans,  Cousin  of  Sam's. 
Officer. 


Scene  I. — A  wood.    Sam  Jones  discovered  whittling. 

Enter  Erastus  Blinknat." 

Erastus — How  do  you  do  ? 

Sam — Hallo !     Whar  'd  yeou  cum  from  ? 

Erastus — I  came  down  fwom  the  citaw.  I  wish  to 
fiud  the  wesidence  of  Mrs.  Jones.     Can  you  assist  me  ? 

Sam — Wall,  yes,  I  reckon  I  kin.  I'm  purty  well 
acquainted  around  in  these  diggin's. 

Erastus — So  I  supposed. 

Sam — And  yeou  want  tew  go  tew  the  house  of  Mrs- 
Jones?  I  reckon  yeou  be  n't  a  relation  of  hers,  be 
yeou? 

Erastus — No,  sir ;  I  am  not.  But,  weally,  if  you 
know  where  she  wesides  I  'd  be  supwemcly  happy  if  you 
would  infowm  me.     I  am  in  somewhat  of  a  hurwy. 

Sam — Yeou  don't  say  so!  Wall,  neow,  if  yeou  be  n't 
a  relation  of  Mrs.  Jones's  I  'd  like  tew  know  what  on  airth 
yeou  air  goin'  there  fiir. 

Erastus — (Aside) — A  vewey  impudent  and  inquisitive 
boaw.  (  To  Sam.)  I  wish  to  infowm  you,  sir,  that  I  do  not 
desiaw  to  hold  any  further  convewsation  with  you,  unless 
you  will  give  me  the  diwcctions  I  so  much  desiaw. 

Sam — Sartinly,  I '11  give  yeou  all  the  directions  yeou 
want.  I  '11  tell  yr-ou  all  abeout  the  Jones'  family,  and  if  yeou 
want,  I'll  tell  yeou  about  the  Barkers,  and  the  Higginses, 
and  the  Wum])erley8  and  the  Scoozinhams,  and  all  the 


l4  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

rest  of  the  people  as  lives  areound  here.     Reckon  yeotf 
haint  never  been  areound  in  these  diggin's  afore  ? 

Erastus — No ;  I  have  nevaw  had  that  honaw. 

Sam — What  makes  yeou  talk  in  that  twisted  sort  of  a 
way  ?  Yeou  say  ho7iaw  and  nevaw  jest  like  as  if  thar  was 
somethin'  wrong  with  yeour  jaws.  Reckon  yeou've  got 
the  mumps,  or  somethin'. 

Erastus — {Aside)—W\xdii  a  disagweeably  booby  !  (  To 
6am.)     I  would  pwefer  not  to  convewse  with  you. 

Sam — Wall,  neow,  that's  not  like  me,  fur  I  like  tew 
talk  tew  e'en  a'most  anybody.  A  feller  ginerally  feels 
better  arter  he  has  got  a  good  long  talk  tew  somebody, 
and  as  yeou  have  jest  cum  deown  from  the  city,  I  want  tew 
ax  yeou  a  heap  of  things.  I  haint  seed  a  feller  from  the 
city  fur  up'ard  of  six  months,  and  that  feller  was  so 
mighty  stuck  up  I  could  skurcely  git  a  word  eout  of  him. 
Thar  aint  any  use  in  a  feller  bein'  so  much  stuck  up 
abeout  any  thing,  fur  we  do  n't  know  what  is  in  store  fur 
us,  and  when  we  air  feelin'  our  biggest  and  lookin'  our 
proudest  we  may  git  a  whop  that  will  make  us  feel  sad 
and  lonely  all  the  rest  of  our  lives. 

Erastus — (^Aaide) — I  sujipose  I  must  heaw  this  fellow 
through  with  his  wigraawolc,  or  find  the  way  myself. 
{To  Sam.)  Look  heaw,  Mr.  John  Smith,  or  whatevaw 
youaw  name  is,  I  have  lost  my  way.  Now,  I  fancy — 
well,  I  know  you — 

Sam — Know  me  !  Wall,  neow,  I  kalkilate  yeou  do  n't, 
if  yeou  think  my  name 's  John  Smith.  My  name 's  Jones, 
and  yeou  air  a  wantin'  tew  go  tew  my  marni's  house. 
The  idee  of  me  bein'  a  Smith  !  I  tell  yeou,  sir,  if  yeou 
warn't  a  stranger  I'd  make  a  fuss  abeout  it.  The  Smiths 
aint  no  great  shakes,  and  I  do  n't  take  up  with  the  idee 
of  bein'  equaled  to  'em.  John  Smith  lives  deown  tew 
Turkey  Run,  and  he  was  ketched  in  the  act  of  stealin'  a 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  15 

hoss  onct,  so  don't  tell  me  I'm  a  Smith,  fur  I  don't  know 
as  I  kin  allow  it.  Yeou  know  I  'm  a  feller  as  can 't  be 
bamboozled  and  bully-ragged  beyond  a  sartin  p'int. 

Erastus — I  meant  no  offence.  I  was  merely  going  to 
wemawk  that  I  knew  you — that  you  were  one  of  that  sowt 
of  gentlemen  as  desiwed  to  tell  his  stowy  through  befoaw 
talking  on  any  other  subject.  I  therefoaw  desiwed  to 
say  that  I  would  heaw  you  through,  and  then  you  could 
give  me  the  diwections  so  that  I  could  find  Mrs.  Jones's 
wesidence. 

Sam — Wall,  yeou  're  a  buster  tew  talk !  I  do  n't  know 
as  I  have  got  any  thing  partickelar  tew  say,  but  I  'd  like 
tew  ax  yeou  abeout  the  city.  I  reckon  yeou  have  lived 
there  fur  a  consid'able  spell  ? 

Erastus — Yes;  I  have  been  there  for  nearly  ten 
yeaws. 

Sam — And  I  reckon  yeou  know  all  the  crooks  and 
turns.  Neow,  I  'd  give  a  heap  tew  live  in  the  city  a  spell. 
Reckon  yeou  wouldn't  keer  abeout  takin'  a  feller  with 
yeou  when  yeou  go  back  ? 

Erastus — "Well,  weally  I  do  not  expect  to  weturn  to 
the  citaw  for  some  time,  and  therefoaw  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  me  to  accompany  you.  Howevaw,  you  can  find 
the  way  at  any  time.  And  you  aw  a  son  of  Mrs.  Jones, 
you  say?  I  am  glad  I  have  found  you.  There  is  a 
young  lady  at  youaw  mothaw's  house,  I  undewstand. 

Sam — Yes;  cousin  Evalena's  thar.  Reckon  yeou 're 
her  beau,  aint  yeou  ? 

Erastus — Yes ;  I  have  that  honaw.  Will  you  con- 
duct me  to  youaw  wesidence,  so  that  I  may  see  my 
chawmcr?  If  you  have  ever  been  in  love  you  will  un- 
dawstand  just  how  I  feel.  I  am  impatient  to  sec  Miss 
Evalena,  and  I  would  fly  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  to 
meet  her. 


16  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

Sam — Wall,  neow,  this  is  railly  presbyterious !  Here 
I  've  been  a  talkin'  tew  yeou  this  long  spell,  and  never 
once  dreamed  that  yeou  was  Evalena's  beau.  Thar 's  a 
feller  deown  here  as  has  been  tryin'  tew  shine  areound 
Evalena,  but  I  reckon  she'll  skurcely  look  at  him  when 
yeou  've  cum  areound.  Yeou  air  sich  a  stylish  feller ! 
May  I  ax  yeour  name  ? 
'     Erastus — Certainly.     My  name  is  Erastus  Blinknat. 

Sam — And  mine  is  Sam  Jones.  But  I  reckon  yeou 
know  all  abeout  our  family.  Evalena  has  told  yeou,  I 
s'pose.  As  I  was  a  sayin',  thar  's  a  feller  deown  here  as 
has  been  a  shinin'  reound  Evalena,  but  I  reckon  it  wont 
amount  tew  much.  He's  a  mighty  nice  feller,  but  then 
he  isn't  so  stylish  and  doesn't  talk  so  proper  and  perlite. 
Air  yeou  a  preacher  or  a  lawyer  ? 

Erastus — Neithaw. 

Sam — Neither  one  nor  t'other!  Wall,  neow,  that's  a 
similar  sarcumstance.  Yeou  look  as  slick  as  a  preacher 
Then  yeou  must  be  a  doctor  ? 

Erastus — No ;  I  am  not  a  doctaw.    I  abhoaw  medicine. 

Sam — Wall,  neow,  if  yeou  aint  a  lawyer,  nor  a  preacher, 
nor  a  doctor,  yeou  must  be  one  of  these  fellers  what  has 
big  stores  and  sells  all  kinds  of  kalikers  and  silks  and 
things.     Aint  yeou  one  of  them  fellers  ? 

Erastus — No,  I  have  not  that  honaw. 

Sam — Wall,  then,  I  'd  like  tew  ax  yeou  what  yeou  air  ? 
Do  n't  yeou  dew  nothin'  ? 

Erastus — No,  I  am  happy  to  infowm  you  that  I  do 
nothing.     I  am  a  gentleman. 

Sam — Land  of  Pequonnock !  a  gentleman !  Wall,  if 
that  don't  beat  all  natur'. 

Erastus — Did  you  nevaw  see  a  gentleman  befoaw  ? 

Sam — Yes,  I  kalkilate  I  'm  one  myself,  but  I  had  no 
idee  that  a  gentleman  was  a  feller  as  did  n't  dew  nothin'. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  17 

Deown  here  we  call  fellers  of  that  kind  loafers.      Reckon 
yeou  must  be  a  reg'lar  built  loafer. 

Erastus — {Aside) — This  fellow's  impudence  is  dwead- 
ful.  But  he  is  a  cousin  of  Evalena's,  and  I  mustn't  get 
up  a  wumpus  with  him.  {To  Sam.)  Well,  let  us  move  on. 
I  am  anxious  to  gaze  upon  my  chawmaw — the  beautiful 
Evalena. 

Sam — Yes,  I  see  yeou  seem  tew  be  sorter  oneasy.  But 
thar  aint  no  hurry.  We  '11  git  thar  abeout  dark,  and  deown 
here  it  aint  fashionable  to  go  a  sparkin'  till  arter  dark. 

Erastus — But  I  flattaw  myself  that  Evalena  will  be 
wejoiced  to  see  me  at  any  time  of  day. 

Sam — Don't  be  too  sure  abeout  that.  Sometimes  when 
a  feller  thinks  he's  gittin'  along  splendid  in  his  courtin' 
he  gits  an  awful  backset.  Neow  thar  was  Azariah  Har- 
kens  deown  tew  Goose  Holler.  He  was  a  courtin'  Arabella 
Scruggins  awful  strong,  and  he  'peared  tew  think  that  it 
wouldn't  be  of  no  kind  of  use  fur  another  feller  tew  look 
at  her ;  he  jest  thought  he  could  git  her,  and  no  mistake. 
Wall,  sure 's  yeou 're  born,  Arabella  ups  one  night  and 
telled  him  she  guessed  he  'd  better  not  come  any  more,  as 
it  warn't  no  kind  of  use.  This  made  Azariah  feel  mighty 
bad,  and  he  tuck  the  solemnchollies,  and  he  haint  never 
been  eout  a  sparkin'  since, 

Erastus — I  think  we  had  bettaw  walk  on,  and  you 

can  tell  youaw  amusing  stowies  as  we  pass  along. 

Sam — Yes,  that's  so,  Mr.  Brickbat.     Come  along. 

\_Exib  both. 
[  Curtain.'] 

Scene   II.— A    room    in    Mrs.   Jones's   house.      Evalena   and 

Erastus  seated. 

Evalena — Mr.  Blinknat,  you  should  not  have  coma 
here.  I  wanted  time  to  consider  the  matter,  and  I  did  not 
wish  to  be  disturbed. 


18  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Erastus — "Well,  weally,  I  could  not  wait.  I  found  out 
youaw  wetweat,  and  I  felt  that  I  must  fly  to  you.  O  Eva- 
leua,  beautiful  woniau,  do  not  upbwaid  me.  I  live  upon 
youaw  smiles,  and  I  thought  I  must  come  immediately  and 
plead  for  an  answer. 

EvALENA — And  you  must  have  your  answer  now  ? 

Erastus — Yes,  oh,  yes,  answer  me.  Let  me  not  pine 
and  be  unhappy.  Aftaw  the  encouragement  you  have 
given  me,  you  will  accept  me  and  make  me  a  happy  man. 

EvALENA — As  you  are  so  exceedingly  desirous  of  an 
immediate  answer,  I  will  give  you  my  answer. 

Erastus — Oh,  yes,  youaw  answer,  aud  make  me  one  of 
the  happiest  mowtals  upon  the  face  of  the  eawth.  But  do 
not  cwush  me — oh,  no,  do  not  cwush  me ! 

EvALENA — My  answer  is  No  I 

Erastus — Oh,  dweadful !     You  do  not  mean  it  ? 

EvALENA — I  do. 

Erastus — Oh,  unsay  those  cwuel  words  or  I  shall  be 
misewable  all  the  days  of  my  life.  O  Evalena,  do  not 
kill  me! 

Evalena — You  have  my  answer. 

Erastus — Oh,  but  I  can  not  take  no  for  an  answer. 
Oh,  no,  no !  I  can  not,  I  can  not !  You  will  not  cwush  me 
thus  when  you  have  heawtofoaw  looked  upon  me  with 
such  gweat  favor. 

Evalena — It  is  useless  to  multiply  words.  I  have 
given  the  only  answer  I  can  give  you  ;  the  only  answer 
I  vxill  give  you.     Do  you  understand  me  ? 

Erastus — Oh,  no,  no !  I  can  not  undawstand  such 
cwushing  words.     0  Evalena,  do  not  kill  me ! 

Enter  Sam  and  an  Officer. 

Sam — Wall,  if  Evalena  doesn't  kill  yeou  I  kalkilate 
here 's  a  feller  as  will. 


STERIJNG    DIALOGUES  19 

Erastus — AVhat  means  this  intwusion  ? 

Sam — Why,  yeou  see,  Mr.  Brickbat,  this  feller  thinks 
yeou  air  courtiu'  a  leetle  too  airnestly.  When  yeou  find 
eout  what  he's  arter  I  kalkilate  yeou '11  see  a  Brickbat  fly. 

Erastus — I  demand  an  answer.  What  means  this 
intwusion  ? 

Officer  —  ( Advancing  and  placing  his  hand  on 
Erastus'  shoulder) — I  arrest  you  on  a  charge  of  counter- 
feiting. 

Erastus — What  do  you  mean  ?    I  demand  an  answer. 

[Exit  Evalena,  R. 
Oh,  you  have  dwiven  her  away.  You  shall  sufiaw  for 
this.  (Breaks  away  from  Officer  and  attempts  to  run  off,  L.) 

Sam — (Seizing  him) — Wall,  I  kalkilate  not.  (To 
Officer.)  The  Brickbat  didn't  fly  that  time.  (To 
Erastus.)  Neow  yeou  jest  keep  yeour  standin'  or  I  '11 
fetch  yeou  a  whop  with  my  fist. 

Erastus — Oh,  this  is  excwuciating  ! 

(Officer  puts  on  bracelets^) 

Sam — Yes,  I  reckon  it  does  make  yeou  feel  sort  of 
cranky.  But  this  is  ginerally  the  case.  Loafers  do  eVn 
a'  most  universally  come  to  some  bad  eend. 

Erastus — You  stupid  fool,  shut  up. 

Sam — Why,  Mr.  Brickbat,  yeou  seem  tew  be  takin'  a 
spell  of  the  tantarantums. 

Officer — Come  along  ;  we  can 't  stand  here  all  day. 

Sam — I  say,  Mr.  Brickbat,  when  yeou  git  eoxd,  cum 
deown  ag'in.     Fetch  yeour  knittin'  and  stay  awhile ! 

[Exit  Erastus  and  Officer. 
That's  jest  the  way  it  turns  eout  witli  these  fellers  as 
doesn't  like  tew  work.  Wall,  I  reckon  I'd  better  step 
eout  and  say  good-bye  tew  the  Brickbat.  [^Exit  Sam. 

{^Curtain.'] 


20  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

TRUSTY    AND    TRUE. 


CHARACTERS :— Mb.  Soule,  a  Merchant. 
John  Russell,] 
Frank  Grey,    ^Clerks. 
Amasa  Drew,  J 


Scene  I. — Counting  room.    Russell  seated  at  a  desk,  busy  with  q 

day-book  and  ledger. 

Enter  Drew  and  Grey  unperceived  by  him. 

Russell — {Speakiiig  to  himself) — There  you  are !  I  've 
conquered  you  at  last.  All  those  long  columns  of  figures 
are  right,  sir !  Now,  John  Russell,  I  think  a  page  of 
algebra  will  get  the  cobwebs  out  of  your  brain.  So  here 's 
at  it,  my  boy  ! 

Drew — {Slapping  him  on  the  shoulder) — So,  here's 
your  den,  where  you  hide  yourself,  old  fellow !  What  a 
fool  you  are,  to  work  two  hours  after  the  rest  are  out ! 

Grey — And  now  he  talks  about  algebra  !  I  'd  go  sail- 
ing up  Salt  River,  with  a  sign  over  me,  before  Fd  touch 
an  algebra.  Sure  enough,  what  do  you  stay  here  for  so 
late  o' nights? 

Russell — Well,  to-night  I  stayed  to  do  a  little  work 
for  Mr.  Soule — a  few  figures  that  somehow  would  n't  add 
up  right.  But  I  've  balanced  every  thing  all  straight ;  and 
I  'm  glad  of  it.  They  were  in  a  snarl,  somewhat,  but  it 's 
all  right. 

Drew — And  the  algebra  ? 

Russell — Oh,  you  know  Mr.  Soule  told  us  the  other 
day  he  must  do  with  less  help  soon.  And  as  I  'm  the 
youngest  clerk,  I  expect  to  be  the  one  to  be  turned  off.  So 
I  'm  brushing  up  a  little.  Just  to  prepare  for  a  winter 
campaign  of  teaching.     That 's  all. 

Grey — {Putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  looking 
iolenxnly  at  Russell) — Russell,  how  old  are  you  ? 


STERT.rJirG   DIALOGUES  21 

Russell — {SmiUng) — Oh,  I'm  almost  eighteen.  Ra. 
ther  young,  I  know ;  but  I  taught  last  winter  with  pretty 
good  success.     I  '11  do  better  this  year. 

Grey — Well,  I'm  glad  you  aren't  quite  a  hundred. 
A  fellow  'd  think,  though,  to  hear  you  talk,  that  you  came 
out  of  the  ark. 

Drew — Looks  arkish,  doesn't  he,  Frank?  Well,  one 
thing  I  know.  You  're  a  fool  to  work  over  your  hours  for 
old  Soule.     He  doesn't  pay  you  extra. 

Russell — I  don't  ask  anything  for  a  little  kindness 
like  that.  Mr.  Soule  is  a  kind,  considerate  employer,  and 
does  a  great  deal  for  us,  you  know.  I  'm  glad  to  do  him 
any  little  favor,  I  'm  sure. 

Grey — Well,  old  fellow,  don't  stay  here  moping  all  the 
evening.  It 's  a  splendid  night !  Come  with  us  and  have 
some  fnn. 

Russell — What  kind  of  fun  ? 

Grey — Oh,  most  any  thing.  A  hand  at  euchre,  per- 
haps. 

Russell — My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  know  one  card  from 
another.  In  the  ark,  where  I  was  brought  up,  cards  are 
fion  est. 

Drew — Of  course.  Well,  say  a  game  of  billiards,  for 
variety. 

Russell — I  am  not  going  to  the  billiard-room  again. 
I  confess  to  a  fondness  for  the  game,  but  they  make  it  a 
regular  gambling  operation  ;  and  such  a  set  of  profane, 
half-druuken  rowdies  as  they  get  in.  No,  sir!  I  beg  to 
be  excused.     I  wish  you  would  n't  go,  boys. 

Drew — I've  no  conscientious  scruples,  and  I  'ni  not 
afraid,     /wasn't  brought  up  in  the  ark,  thank  fortune. 

Russell — Mine  was  a  blessed,  restful,  safe  old  ark, 
thank  Heaven  !  The  memory  of  it  has  been  a  safeguard 
in  many  a  temptation. 


22  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Grey — Yes,  yes,  no  doubt !  You  make  me  home-sick' 
for  your  words  bring  to  mind  my  dear  old  home  in  tho 
country. 

Drew — There,  boys,  don't  be  spoonies  !  We'll  just  go 
it  while  we  're  young,  and  have  a  good  time.  See  here, 
Russell,  we  came  in  to  ask  you  to  take  a  sail  with  us  to- 
morrow. There 's  a  party  of  us  going  over  to  the  island — 
it 's  going  to  be  a  splendid  day ! 

Russell — You  don't  mean  to-morrow !  To-morrow's 
Sunday !     You  've  forgotten. 

Drew — Forgotten !  Just  as  if  it  could  be  any  harm 
for  us  poor  fellows,  who  are  shut  up  within  brick  walls  six 
days  out  of  seven,  to  take  a  sail  on  Sunday ! 

Grey — You  can  go  to  church  twice  and  attend  your 
Sunday-school,  and  then  go.  That  would  n't  be  breaking 
the  Sabbath. 

Drew — Come,  Russell,  do  go  just  for  once !  I  tell  you 
Diamond  Island  is  just  splendid  now.     Come! 

Russell — Stop  a  moment.  Let  me  think.  I  tell  you, 
boys,  Pd  like  to  go !  I  've  been  in  the  city  ten  months, 
and  all  the  country  I  've  seen  is  that  pitiful  little  Common, 
and  the  bit  of  green  in  front  of  my  boarding  house.  I  'd 
like  to  go,  if  it  was  right,  but — 

Grey — Hurra !  "  The  man  that  deliberates  is  lost." 
He  '11  go,  Drew ;  we  only  want  him  to  complete  our  num- 
ber.    We'll  have  a  gay  old  time. 

Russell — See  here,  boys,  don't  be  too  fast.  Just  let 
me  read  you  a  part  of  my  mother's  last  letter.  ( Takes  a 
letter  from  his  breast  pocket,  and  opens  it.)  You  see,  I 
carry  it  next  my  heart.  (Reads ;)  "  I  hope,  my  child, 
you  will  never  be  tempted  to  spend  any  portion  of  the 
Sabbath  in  a  way  that  your  mother  would  not  approve. 
I  know  you  must  be  lonely  on  that  day,  and  that  you 
must  miss  us  all.     But  do  not  forget  that  day  belongs  t« 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  2% 

God.  You  can  not  expect  His  blessing,  if  you  do  not '  re- 
member the  Sabbath.'  "  Now,  boys,  you  see  I  sat  right 
down  and  wrote  to  mother  that  I  wouldn't  be  tempted  to 
do  any  thing  on  the  Sabbath  that  she  would  n't  like  me  to 
do.     So  you  see  I  can 't  go. 

Grey — Well,  you  needn't  preach  any  more.  We'll 
get  enough  of  that  to-morrow. 

Russell — I  beg  your  pardon,  boys.  I  think  I  never 
intruded  my  opinions  upon  you  before.  But,  honest,  I 
don't  think  it  right  to  go  sailing  on  Sunday. 

Grey — And,  honest,  I  don't — so  there! 

Russell — Oh,  then,  be  true  to  your  conscience,  and 
don't  go. 

Grey — I've  promised,  and  I  must  this  once.  But  it 
shall  be  the  very  last  time. 

Drew — Hold  your  tongue.  Grey,  and  don't  be  a  fool. 
Russell,  you've  always  been  a  clever  fellow,  never  poking 
your  nose  into  other  folks'  business,  and  you  've  never  "  let 
on "  about  us  fellows  that  do  n't  think  as  you  do.  I 
respect  you  for  it.  And  now  I  want  you  to  do  us  a  favor, 
will  you  ? 

Russell — Certainly,  if  I  can. 

Drew — Well,  you  can.  Tell  us  where  old  Soule  keeps 
the  key  to  his  boat-house. 

Grey — You  are  not  supposed  to  mistrust  what  we  want 
to  know  for. 

Drew — Oh,  we  want  to  know  just  for  information.  We 
have  inquiring  minds,  you  see.  A  little  curiosity — that's 
all. 

Russell — But  I  do  suspect  your  intentions.  You 
want  U)  get  Mr.  Soule's  "  Favorite  "  to  go  sailing  with  to- 
morrow. 

Drew — Granted.  He's  a  stingy  old  scamp.  He  wont 
let  his  boat,  and  there  isn't  another  to  be  had,  for  love  or 


24  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

money.  All  you've  got  to  do  about  it  is  to  say,  acciden- 
tally, where  he  keeps  the  key.  We  know  you  have 
charge  of  it. 

Russell — (Walking  about,  as  if  thinking,  and  then 
speaking) — Can  you  keep  a  secret,  boys  ? 

Drew — Mum's  the  word.  Nobody  shall  ever  know. 
The  rack  could  n't  wring  it  from  us. 

Grey — Oh,  yes ;  we  can  keep  a  secret,  and  we  will. 
Let  us  have  it. 

Russell — So  can  I;  and  so  I  will !  Mr.  Soule  gave 
me  the  care  of  the  boat-house  key.  I  promised  him  I 
would  neither  let  it  go  out  of  my  possession,  nor  tell 
where  I  keep  it.  I  know  you'll  both  be  offended,  but  I 
can 't  help  it.  My  motto  is  "  trnsty  and  true,"  and  I  '11 
stick  to  it  as  long  as  I  live. 

Drew — You  're  a  booby,  spooney,  and  coward  !  I  cut 
your  acquaintance  for  ever.  (  Goes  out.) 

Grey — (Following  Drew,  takes  Russell's  ha^id,  and 
speaks  in  a  loiv  voice.) — I  respect  you,  Russell.  I  don't 
blame  you !     Do  n't  forget  me. 

Russell — Well,  they've  gone.  Heigho!  I've  made 
a  life-time  enemy  ;  but  I  can 't  help  it !  I  'm  a  booby  and 
a  spooney,  may  be,  but  I  'm  not  a  coward.  I  know  I  'd 
rather  march  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth  than  to  face  such 
music  as  this.  Oh,  dear!  wouldn't  I  like  to  have  some- 
body tell  me  I'm  not  a  booby.  I  wish  somebody  cared 
about  us  poor  stranger-boys.  When  I'm  a  man,  I'll  hunt 
up  all  the  young  fellows,  and  just  let  them  see  that  some- 
body has  an  interest  in  them.  I'll  ask  them  to  church 
and  Sabbath-school  and — ah!  well !  that's  another  of  my 
fooli?b  a:  iLt.ns.  I  suppose  I  must  be  a  little  unfinished  in 
the  upper  story.     I  '11  off  to  bed  and  to  sleep.  [_ExU. 

[  Curtain.^ 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  25 

SCKHB  II.— Place  same  as  before.    Time,  Monday  morning.    Mb. 
SOULE  sitting  by  a  desk. 

Enter  Russell. 

Russell — You  wished  to  see  me,  sir  ? 

SouLE — Ah,  Russell!  {Extending  his  hand.)  Glad 
to  see  you  so  prompt !  Sit  down  here.  I  want  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  you. 

Russell — (  Taking  a  seat) — Thank  you,  sir,  I  've  been 
expecting  this  for  a  week.  I  suppose  you're  about  to 
make  the  change  you  spoke  of.  I  'm  sorry  to  go,  sir,  but 
as  I  'ra  the  youngest  clerk,  I  expected  to  be  the  first  one 
turned  off. 

SouLE — Yes,  I  am  making  some  changes  in  my  busi- 
ness, and  some  two  or  three  must  be  discharged.  You 
found  the  snarl  here,  (Laying  his  hand  on  the  ledger,)  and 
unraveled  it,  I  see. 

Russell — Yes,  sir ;  I  think  it  is  all  right. 

Soule — All  right,  Russell,  and  very  well  done.  Have 
you  seen  Drew  this  morning? 

Russell — No,  sir ;  neither  Drew  nor  Grey.  I  won- 
dered where  they  are  to-day.  I  noticed  neither  of  their 
desks  were  filled. 

Soule — Then  you  haven't  heard  the  news? 

Russell — No,  sir!     What  news? 

Soule — Frank  Grey  had  his  eye  put  out  last  night,  in 
a  billiard  saloon,  in  a  drunken  quarrel ! 

RuasELL — Frank  Grey!  Poor  fellow!  You  don't 
mean  to  say  he  had  been  drinking,  Mr.  Soule? 

Soule — No,  I  think  not.  He  got  mixed  up  in  the 
(jiiarrel  somehow.  It  is  a  great  pity  he  was  ever  tempted 
to  go  there  at  all.  Grey  is  not  very  wicked  yet,  only 
a  little  weak. 

Russell — Perhaps   this   may  save   him.     I   hope  so. 

1  A 


26  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

He 's  good-hearted.     Poor  Frank  !     Lost  an  eye  I    Ho^ 
terrible ! 

SoULE — Yes,  but  it  might  have  been  worse.  If  the 
loss  of  an  eye  will  reform  his  character  and  make  his  life 
useful,  it  will  be  a  mercy,  after  all.  There's  another 
piece  of  bad  news  which  I  presume  you  haven't  heard. 
Drew  is  in  the  lockup. 

Russell — (Astonished) — In  the  where  f 

SouLE — In  "  durance  vile,"  Russell,  on  the  charge  of 
breaking  and  entering. 

Russell — Whose  store?     Can  it  be  true,  Mr.  Soule? 

SouLE — Captain  Nelson's  boat-house.  He  stole  Nel- 
son's yacht,  he  and  some  other  fellows,  and  went  pleasur- 
ing. Nelson 's  angry,  of  course,  and  had  them  arrested 
this  morning. 

Russell — It  is  a  sad  thing !  I  am  very  sorry.  Was 
Grey  one  of  the  party  ? 

Soule — No,  he  was  n't.  He  had  a  sick  headache  all 
day,  and  it  is  a  great  pity  it  had  n't  lasted  all  the  evening, 
as  well. 

Russell — Somebody  coaxed  him  off.  The  poor  fellow 
could  never  say  "  no." 

Soule — It 's  a  great  pity.  The  fact  is,  he  is  n't  "  trusty 
and  true."  Very  few  young  men  are.  When  I  find  one 
that  is,  I  consider  him  worth  his  weight  in  diamonds — eh, 
John? 

Russell — Yes,  sir ;  I  suppose  so,  sir !  That  is,  my 
parents  always  taught  me  so. 

Soule — Do  n't  blush  so,  Russell,  my  dear  fellow.  I 
did  n't  mean  to  play  eaves-dropper  last  Saturday  night, 
but  I  heard  your  conversation  with  Drew  and  Grey. 
You  have  been  well  taught,  and  you  do  your  parents 
honor.  You  shall  not  suffer  for  your  defence  of  me  and 
my  property,  I  assure  you. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  9'J 

Russell — I  only  did  my  duty,  sir.  When  do  you 
want  me  to  leave — to-day  ? 

SouLE — I  do  n't  wish  you  to  leave  at  all. 

Russell — I  thought  you  said — 

SouLE — You  mustn't  jump  at  conclusions.  I  said  1 
was  about  making  some  change,  and  I  am.  I  sent  for 
you  to  ofl'er  you  the  clerkship  made  vacant  by  Drew. 
That  gives  you  a  jump  over  four  years,  and  will  more 
than  double  your  salary. 

Russell — O  Mr.  Soule,  how  can  I  thank  you?  Do 
you  think  I  am  competent  to  do  his  work ! 

Soule — I  think  so.  That  was  his  work  you  righted  up 
on  Saturday  night. 

Russell — Mr.  Soule,  you  never  can  know  what  you 
have  done  for  us  all — mother  and  sister  and  me.  I  hope 
you  will  never  have  cause  to  regret  your  kindness. 

Soule — I  never  shall,  if  you  continue  trusty  and  true. 
That  is  all  I  ask  of  you.  For  no  man  can  be  that  to  the 
full,  without  being  more — a  true  Christian. 

{He  shakes  Russell's  hand,  and  exits.) 

Russell — (Pinching  himself) — It  isn't  me.  I  must 
be  dreaming.  John  Russell,  the  booby,  spooney,  coward  ! 
O  mother,  it  all  comes  of  your  teaching!  And  earnestly 
will  I  pray  that  I  be  not  led  into  temptation,  but  ever  be 
trusty  and  true. 


28  STERLING   r>TAT-OGUES 

UNAPPRECIATED   GENIUS. 


CHARACTERS :— Mk.  Beown. 
Mrs.  Browx. 


Alphonse,  ]  „ ,,  T> „ 

Clementina,  little  Girl. 
Biddy,  Domestic. 


Scene. — Disordered  room  ;  everything  in  confusion. 

Enter  Mrs.  Brown,  ivith  knotted  hair  and  soiled  dress. 
Takes  up  manuscript  and  looks  it  over. 

Mrs.  Brown — Dear,  dear!  Here  it  is  Saturday 
morning,  and  that  article  for  the  Hardscrahhle  News  not 
finished  yet.  Let  me  see !  How  did  it  read  ?  {Reads 
aloud ;)  "  On  a  beautiful  day  in  the  leafy  month  of 
June,  when  all  nature  was  bursting  forth  with — " 

Enter  Biddy. 

Biddy — Ungyuns,  mum !  Will  ye  be  havin'  them  for 
dinner,  mum  ? 

Mrs.  Brown — Oh  no,  Biddy,  they  smell  so  badly.  I 
guess  we'll  have  the  bits  left  from  yesterday's  dinner 
hashed  for  to-day ;  you  know  Mr.  Brown 's  never  par- 
ticular. 

Biddy — (Aside) — More 's  the  pity,  says  I.  Poor  mon ! 
( To  Mrs.  Brown.)  The  bits  is  all  gone,  mum.  Give 
'em  to  the  dog,  mum,  to  Bounce. 

Mrs.  Brown — Oh,  Biddy,  how  could  you !  Enough  for 
two  good  dinners!  I  haven't  time  to  go  down  to  the 
pantry ;  can 't  you  tell  me  what  there  is  ? 

Biddy — That  I  can,  mum,  fur  me  two  eyes  can  say,  an' 
me  two  hands  can  hold  ivery  bit  of  aitin'  there  is  in  this 
house,  to  be  sure !  The  two  boys,  mum,  has  et  up  the 
black  raisin  cake — 


8TERT.TXG   DIALOGUES  29 

Mrs.  Brown — All  my  fruit-cake? 

Biddy — Truth,  muiu,  though  I  make  bold  to  say  it 
tasted  strong  of  merlasses  to  me ;  Ellen  Ryan  says — 

Mrs.  Brown — What  else  is  there?  (^Goes  to  writing.) 
Any  bread  ? 

Biddy — No,  mum !     Baby 's  et  that. 

Mrs.  Brown — Five  loaves  baked  yesterday.  Poor 
Baby!  Well,  get — get — oh,  something!  Make  a  pud- 
ding, can 't  you  ?  Run  down  and  buy  some  bread,  and 
some  meat — steak  I  guess,  that'll  cook  the  quickest — and 
tell  'em  to  put  it  on  the  book. 

Biddy — On  the  book,  is  it  ?  And  if  it 's  all  the  same  to 
yes,  mum,  I  '11  bring  it  in  the  basket ! 

Mrs.  Brown — {Laughs) — Oh,  Biddy!  I  mean,  tell 
them  to  charge  it  to  Mr.  Brown. 

Biddy — Yes,  mum.  {^Exit. 

Mrs.  Brown — If  Charles  only  would  look  after  the 
help  more,  I  would  bo  glad ;  he  must  see  that  /don't  get 
time.  Her  mother  was  here  yesterday,  and  that  accounts 
for  empty  larder,  the  children  never  touch  anything, 
precious  ones.  Oh,  dear!  {Yawns,  and  reads  again:) 
"  Nature  was  bursting  forth  with  all  her  wealth  of — " 

Enter  Alphonse,  and  Clementina. 

Alphonse — (Holding  up  his  buttonless  jacket) — But- 
tons all  off  my  jacket,  mamma;  see! 

Mrs.  Brown  —  (Abstractedly)  —  Pin  it,  Alphonse. 
(Reads :)  "  wealth  of  buds,  and — " 

Alphonse — Apple,  mamma,  Clementina's  got  my 
apple. 

Clementina — Just  one  bito,  mamma. 

Mrs.  Brown — Give  it  to  brother,  dear;  run  and  play, 
and  you  may  take  my  white  rrffpe  shawl. 

Cleuentina — Your  very  bestcst  one,  mamma.     You 


30  STEPLTXO    DIALOGUES 

nodded  us  yes.     Oh,  you're  just  the  sweetest,  {Kisses  her 
rapturoitsly,)  goodest  mamma. 

Mrs.  Brown — Run  away,  pet,  you'll  stick  my  face  all 
up  with  your  apple.  (Beads:)  "blossoms  to  gladden 
weary  man.     The  sun  was  slowly  sinking  in  a — " 

\_Exit  both. 
Enter  Biddy. 

Biddy — Swill-pail,  mum !  Baby 's  fell  in  it,  sure ;  he 's 
kickin'  an'  squallin'  awful,  mum. 

Mrs.  Brown — Get  him  out  quick,  and  take  off  his 
dress.     Poor  baby. 

Biddy — Yes,  mum.  [JSrit, 

Mrs.  Brown — (Reads) — "  blazing  radiance — " 

Enter  Alphonse,  Adolphus  and  Clementina. 

Alphonse — Fire 's  all  out,  mamma ;  mayn't  me,  and 
'Dolph,  and  Clem  come  in  where  you  be  ? 

Mrs.  Brown — What  grammar!  What  manners! 
No,  dears ;  run  out  and  skate,  mamma 's  busy.  Put  on 
your  mittens. 

Alphonse — The  strap  to  my  skate 's  broke. 

Mrs.  Brown — Take  a  string,  can 't  you  ?  [Exit  all. 
(Beads :)  "  in  a  blazing  radiance  of  glory,  when  a 
stranger  might  have  been  seen  approaching  a — " 

Enter  Biddy. 
Biddy — Beef's  liver;  all  the  meat  he  had,  mum. 
Mrs.  Brown — Dreadful !  Fix  it  someway. 
Biddy — Yes,  mum.  \_Exit. 

Mrs.  Brown — (Beads) — "approaching  a  dwelling  on 
outskirts  of  a  small  village.     He  wa?  seated  on  a — " 

Enter  Biddy, 
Biddy — (Jlothes-line  's  broke,  mum,  an'  let  the  beauti- 
ful white  clothes,  as  white  as  your  own  hand,  missis,  right 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  31 

down  on  the  dirty  ground,  an'  me  so  tired,  what  with 
t'oin'  iverything,  that  I've  no  strength  lift  at  all,  'tall, 
jid'  twelve  of  the  clock  and  no  dinner. 

Mrs,  Brown — I'm   sorry;   can't  you   take   the  bed- 

<ord? 

Biddy— (J-Strfe)— Little  does  the  likes  of  her  care  if  me 

fingers  wuz  worked  off  to  me  elbows. 

Mrs.  Brown — {Reads) — "  Sitting  on  a — " 

Enter  Adolphus. 

Adolphus — (Riding  a  broom-handle,  calls  out  noisily) — 
Horse,  mamma,  has  comed  right  into  your  house !  Do  n't 
you  touch  him,  mamma,  or  he  '11  kick.  (Sings ;)  "  I  '11 
bet  my  money — " 

Mrs.  Brown — Stop,  sir !  Where  does  he  get  that 
slang?  Leave  the  room  this  minute!  (He  goes  off  crying.) 
— "  on  a  noble  steed  who  seemed  proudly  conscious  of  its — " 

Enter  Clementina. 
Clementina — ( With  doll) — Eyes  all  bunged  out ;  mam- 
ma, (crying,)  my  baby's  spoilt! 

Mrs.  Brown — Go  out,  and  close  the  door ! 

\_Exit  Clementina. 

(Reads :)  "  beauty  and  worth.  As  he  sauntered  slowly  up 
to  the  humble  paling,  a  man  rushed  wildly  out,  frantically 
exclaiming — " 

Enter  Mr.  Brown. 

Mr.  Brown — Wife,  do  you  know  what  that  great 
blundering  thing  has  done?  Actually  taken  off  the  dear 
little  thing's  dress,  as  you  told  her,  and  left  him  so !  Mer- 
cury at  fifteen  degrees  below  zero.  I  declare  my  baby 
sha'ii't  be  treated  so! 

Mrh.  Brown — (Amiably) — WhoHchahy?  Say  owr  baby, 
dear!     If  there's  any  one  thing  I  dislike  more  than  an- 


32  STERLING    DIALOGFES 

other,  it  is  to  hear  a  married  man  say  "  my  this,"  or  "  my 
that."  If  I  had  vvj  way,  that  word  should  be  entirely 
stricken  out  of  the  domestic  calendar.  "  Our  "  sounds  so 
much  more  generous. 

Mk.  Brown — Meanwhile,  will  your  majesty  please  to 
inform  me  what  I  shall  put  on  to  our  shivering,  neglected 
baby? 

Mrs.  Brown— Oh,  wrap  him  up  in  one  of  the  boys' 
roundabouts  till  his  dress  gets  dry !  (He  goes  out.)  How 
little  incentive  a  married  woman  feels  for  literary  pursuits 
with  no  encouragement !  Charles,  too,  has  great  intellect, 
but  he  ivill  insist  that  "  healing  the  sick  "  is  of  more  im- 
portance than  feeding  the  mind;  I  wouldn't  mind  it  so 
much,  only  it  takes  him  away  from  home  most  of  the  time, 
and  he  can 't  amuse  the  children,  or  oversee  the  house  as 
much  as  he  ought ;  but,  after  all,  bless  him  ;  there  never 
was  so  good  a  husband,  if  he  can't  always  appreciate  my 
flights  of  intellect.  Where  was  I  ?  (Beads :) — "  exclaim- 
ing, '  Help,  sir !  Help !  My  wife  is  dying,  and  I — ' " 

Enter  Mr.  Brown. 

Mr.  Brown — Can 't  find  our  best  pants,  wife  ! 

Mrs.  Brown — {Dreamily) — Have  you  looked  in  the 
wood-box  ?     Seems  to  me  I  saw  'em. 

Mr.  Brown — TFoo(^-box? 

Mrs.  Brown— No  !  'twas  n't  either.  I  put  'em  into  tho 
south  parlor  window,  where  the  glass  is  out. 

Mr.  Brown — What  economy !  (  Goes  out.) 

Mrs.  Brown — (Beads) — "  Hurriedly  our  hero  alighted, 
and  stepping  into—" 

Enter  Mr.  Brown. 
Mr.  Brown — (Hastily) — Best  hat  ruined,  Jane;  those 
wretched  young  ones  had  it  out  on  the  ice  for  a  gunboat 
[  do  wish  you  would  leave  writing,  and  see  to  things- 


STERLING    DTALOGTTES  33 

Mrs.  Bkown — {Soothingly) — Biddy  will.  You  don't 
feel  right  well  to-day,  do  you,  dear?  I  wouldn't  call 
'em  young  ones;  they  wont  think  you  love  'em — little 
angels. 

Mr.  Brown — Destroying  angels,  I  should  say. 

Mrs.  Brown — Now,  Charles,  don't!  You  know  \iyou 
took  one-half  the  interest  in  our  home  affairs  that  /  do, 
things  wouldn't  be  so  disorderly. 

Mr.  Brown — {Sotto  voce) — As  much  interest  f 

Mrs.  Brown — Don't  repeat  my  words,  dear ;  it  isn't 

good  taste ;  I — 

Enter  Biddy. 

Biddy — Would  ye  be  good  enough,  mum,  to  come 
down  and  set  yer  two  eyes  on  till  this  very  same  puddin', 
mum  ?  Och,  bad  luck  to  the  day  I  iver  tried  the  same ! 
I  waa  thinkin'  could  I  make  one  loike  me  cousin  Ann 
Flynn  did  the  ither  day  after  mass ;  she  that  married 
Mike  Flannigan,  yer  mind, — 

Mrs.  Brown — Talk  faster. 

Biddy — Faster,  is  it?  when  me  poor  tongue  is  that 
burrunt  with  tastin'  of  the  ugly  hot  stuff,  what  is  no  pud- 
din'  at  all,  'tall,  only  scalt  milk  and  bread  bits. 

Mrs.  Brown — Did  you  remember  the  eggs  and  sugar  ? 

Biddy — And  it's  not  the  loikes  o'  me,  mum,  as  would 
be  forgetting  of  any  sich  things,  with  me  best  of  characters 
from  my  former  missis,  but  I  says  to  myself,  says  I :  Poor 
mon,  he  little  knows  how  things  is  goin'  on  unbeknownst 
to  him — blessed  lamb  !  and  he  gone,  and  I'll  save  him  in 
what  small  ways  I  can,  says  I,  and  so  I  I'aves  out^ — foarin' 
it  might  not  be  fit  atin',  yer  see,  if  it  did  n't  coom  good — 
the  sugar  anr!  eggs  both  of  'em — 

Mr.  BROWfi — What  a  goose! 

Mrs.  Bufj-ft'N — ( Al  the  mvie  time) — Left  'em  out? 
(_Both  lavfih.     Biddy  flounces  aid  mad.)     Leave  mo  just 


34  STERLING    PIALOGUES 

a  minute  till  I  finish  this.    Oh,  dear,  there  are  those  noisy 

children.  {He  goes  out.)  Let  me  see,  (i^earfs :) — "stepping 

into  the — " 

Eyiter  Mr.  Brown. 

Mr.  Brown — Baby 's  swallowed  a  whistle,  quick ! 

Mrs.  Brown — Oh,  dear  !  {Leaving  room.)  Jerk  up  hia 
arm!  Hold  his  head  down!  Spat  him  on  the  backl 
Oh,  my  precious,  precious  baby !  \_Exit  both 

[^Cwrtain.^ 


THE  DISCONTENTED  GIRLS. 


CHARACTERS  :-J™,  }  two  little  Girls. 

Scene. — Flora  and  Jennie  standing,  with  dirty  faces,  tangled  hair, 
shoe-strings  untied  ;  one  with  a  bonnet  on,  and  the  other  swinging 
hers  in  her  hand ;  and  each  carrying  a  load  of  school  books. 

Jennie — So,  you  are  ready  for  school,  are  you  ?  I  see 
you  have  got  your  bonnet  and  books. 

Flora — Yes,  I  'spose  I  've  got  to  go,  whether  I  want 
to  or  not.  The  plagued  old  school !  I  don't  care  a  cent 
for  it.  All  I  do  is  get  scolded !  When  I  am  at  home, 
mother  scolds  all  the  time ;  and  when  I  am  at  school,  the 
teacher  scolds.  It 's  scold,  scold,  scold,  all  the  whole  time, 
from  daylight  till  darkness !  I  am  glad  when  it 's  time 
to  go  to  bed,  so  I  wont  hear  any  more  scolding ;  and  I 
tell  you,  I  lie  as  late  in  the  morning  as  possible.  Mother 
keeps  calling  me  to  get  up,  but  I  know  how  to  fix  her.  I 
just  stuff  the  bed-clothes  in  my  ears,  just  as  tight  as  I  can  ; 
and  then  she  calls,  and  calls,  and  I  never  hear  a  single 
word ! 

Jennie — That's  just  the  way  I  do,  too!  I  look  out 
how  I  get  up  before  breakfast!     I  can  do  work  enough 


STERTJXn    DIALOGUES  3d 

afterwards,  and  get  scolding  enough  too.  I  have  to  hold 
the  baby  all  the  time,  and  all  he  does  is  squall,  and  then 
mother  scolds,  but  I  do  n't  care!  I  make  him  squall 
sometimes,  on  purpose !  I  hate  babies,  and  I  would  n't 
take  care  of  them  if  1  could  help  it !  I  am  glad  when 
school-time  comes,  so  as  to  get  away  from  them.  It 's  not 
<jiiite  so  bad  there,  but  it's  bad  enough,  for  it's  study, 
.study,  study  !  J  can  't  look  off  the  book  a  single  minute, 
but  the  teacher  sees  me ;  and  then  those  terrible  geography 
lessons,  with  all  those  long  hard  names.  I  can  never  learn 
them.  I  suppose  1  shall  have  to  stay  after  school  every 
night,  but  I  do  n't  know  as  I  care. 

Flora — I  just  know  what  I  wish.  I  wish  I  was  a 
grown-up  young  lady.  I  would  go  to  all  the  dances,  and 
parties,  I  wanted  to.  I  guess  I  'd  do  as  I  pleased  then ! 
I  'd  have  just  as  many  dresses  as  I  wanted.  1  'd  not  wear 
an  old  flannel  dress  like  this ;  and  I  'd  have  such  beauti- 
ful feathers,  and  ribbons;  Oh,  I'd  cut  a  dash,  I  tell  you! 

\Exit  both  together. 
[  Chirtain.'] 


COLORADO. 
AN   ACTING    CHARADE. 


CHARACTERS  :— Tp:AcnER,  young  Ladv- 

Seven  Children,  her  Pupils. 


Scene:— A    noisy    Bchool-room.    Scholars    standing.    Teacher 
rings  bell,  and  they  take  their  seats. 

First  Scholar — (^Points  to  Teacher's  collar,  loose  at 
one  did) — Look  at  her  collar  !     (  Whimpering.) 

Second  Scholar — Will,  I've  got  your  tag. 

Third  Scholar — (To  Fourth  Scholar) — Where's 
the  red  apple  you  promised  to  bring  me? 


36  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Fourth  Scholar — (To  Third  Scholar) — l\eetit 
up. 

Teacher — Order,  order ! 

Fifth    Scholar — {Catching    Teacher    hy    dress)— 
Teacher,  your  collar  is  uupinued  ! 
First  Scholar — Your  collar  ! 

Sixth  Scholar — I  've  got  a  pin  ! 

Teacher — I'd  like  the  lessons  better  learned  than 
they  were  yesterday. 

Seventh  Scholar — Hadn't  you  better  fix  youi 
collar  ! 

Teacher — Yes ;  I  '11  fix  my  collar !  Now,  first  thing, 
we'll  have  an  exercise  in  orthography.  All  give  second 
sound  of  a.  {All  give  different  sounds  of  a.) 

Teacher  —  Horrible !  Second  sound,  I  said  ;  try 
again.  {Some  give  e  and  some  u.) 

Teacher — No  ;  give  it  like  this.  (Sounds  a.  All 
give  it  with  great  stress.) 

Teacher — Perhaps  singing  will  go  better.  Order! 
Turn  to  the  fourth  page  of  singing  books.  Now  all  sing 
J)o.  (Each  one  takes  a  different  key.) 

Fifth  Scholar — Will  is  singing  Bass. 

Third  Scholar — Tom 's  got  Tenor. 

Fourth  Scholar — Which  is  mine.  Air  or  Second  f 

Teacher — J.// sing  with  me .'  (Sings  Do.  All  sound 
turong  key  again.) 

Teacher — Outrageous!     We'll  have  recess. 

[^Exit  all. 

[  Ourtain."] 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  37 

A  PAIR  OF  LIONS. 


CHARACTERS  :— Ned  Stone,  a  waggish  Lawyer. 

Deacon  Green,  his  Cousin,  a  credulous  Rustic. 
Senatob  Flurry,  a  verbose  Coward. 


SCEXE. — Stone's  office.     Table  back  center,  with  books,  etc.     Chair 
at  table.     Two  chairs  right  and  left,  front  center. 

Enter  Ned  Stone. 

Ned — ( Taking  off  hat  and  coat  and  sitting  at  table) — 
What  a  trying  life  we  lawyers  lead,  to  be  sure — trying 
always  as  hard  as  possible  to  kill  the  time  ;  it's  a  trouble- 
some task  I  find  it  sometimes.  Heigh-ho  !  I  '11  set  the  first 
two  men  I  come  across  to  quarrelling  and  then  ofier  my 
professional  services.  Hum  !  My  appointment-book  must 
be  looked  to.  (^Takes  blank-hook  from  table.)  Let  me  see; 
it  will  never  do  to  have  these  pages  look  so  bare,  so  down 
go  Messrs.  Brown,  Jones,  Smith  and  Robinson  again  for 
the  fourth  time,  with  the  addition  of  Mr.  Ferguson. 
(  Writing.)  There,  that  looks  more  professional,  I  think. 
Hallo  !  Here 's  an  actual  letter  for  me,  and,  bless  me,  it 's 
from  that  intensely  rural  cousin  of  mine,  Zachariah  Green, 
of  Squash  Hollow.  (  Opens  and  reads.)  "  Respected  cousin 
Stone : — I  am  about  to  take  the  liberty  of  dropping  in  upon 
you  as  I  'm  a  coming  down  to  your  city  afore  long  as  I 
want  to  see  the  sights  and  as  I  aint  never  been  there  before 
but  once  anda  s  I  am  now  Deacon  to  our  nieetin'-house 
and  as  I  am  in  haste  your  hum])le  servant  cousin  Zacha- 
riah Green.  P.  S. — I'll  be  after  this  right  smart." 
What  have  1  done  to  incur  this  affliction  ?  Coming  down 
upon  me  to  see  the  "sights"  when  I  am  tired  of  every 
body  and  every  thing.  Sights,  eh  ?  Well,  I  will  show 
him  the  siglits  until  iKi'll  wish  himself  back  at  home 
before  he's  been  here  an  hour.      And  there's  that  ever- 


38  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

lasting  Senator  Flurry  coming  in  to  see  me  this  morning 
about  bis  anti-sometbing  speecb;  he's  anotber  detestable 
bore  ;  but  I  have  a  plan  to  get  rid  of  tbem  botb,  and  I  'D 
use  it  too. 

Enter  Deacon  Green. 

Deacon  Green — Good  morning,  cousin  Stone;  how- 
de-do  ?  I  'm  proud  and  happy  to  see  ye.  Quite  a  sur- 
prise now,  I  tell  ye.  Ob,  loi- !  No  it  aint  nuther,  'cause 
it's  me  what's  a  come  to  see  ye;  now  aint  it? 

Ned — Delighted  to  see  you,  cousin  Zach.  I  've  just  re- 
ceived your  letter,  so  that  you  quite  surprised  me. 

Deacon  Green — Wall,  now,  it's  harnsome  of  ye  to 
say  so,  cousin  Ned.  Ye '11  let  me  call  ye  cousin  Ned, 
wont  ye  ? 

Ned — Certainly,  why  not  ?     We  're  cousins,  are  n't  we  ? 

Deacon  Green — So  we  be,  so  we  be !  Cousins  now, 
aint  we  ?     So  we  be.     Purty  slick  trade,  eh,  cousin  Ned  ? 

Ned — Fair,  for  the  season.     Take  a  chair,  Zach. 

Deacon  Green — Could  n't  think  of  robbin'  ye,  cousin 
Ned  ;  howsomdever,  I  don't  object  to  sottin'  down.  {Sits.) 
Jiminy !  This  air  a  purty  slick  bit  of  furnetor,  aint  it, 
cousin  Ned  ?  Now  Is'pose  sich  a  chair  as  this  cost  most 
three  dollars,  wouldn't  it  now? 

Ned — Almost  as  much  as  that. 

Deacon  Green — Sho  !  Ye  do  n't  tell  me  ?  I  say, 
cousin  Ned,  I  aint  interruptin'  business,  be  I? 

Ned — Not  a  bit ;  my  clients  rarely  come  so  early. 

Deacon  Green — Your  what,  don't? 

Ned — My  clients. 

Deacon  Green — Ah,  so  so !  But  I  say,  cousin  Ned, 
where '11  a  feller  go  to  see  the  sights? 

Ned — You  need  n't  stir  out  of  your  chair,  one  of  the 
biggest  lions  in  town  is  coming  here  this  morning. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  39 

Deacon  Green — How  ye  talk !  Jerusha !  I  should 
think  ye  kept  a  hull  menagerum.     Say,  will  he  bite  ? 

Ned — He  does  sometimes,  and  roars  tremendously,  too. 

Deacon  Green — Ex-cnse  me ;  I  'd  rather  see  'em  to 
Barnum's. 

Ned — You  don't  understand  me;  this  lion  is  a  man, 
a  most  noted  character  in  town  ;  in  fact,  he 's  the  most 
celebrated  pugilist  in  the  state. 

Deacon  Green — A  what-ilist  ? 

Ned — A  pugilist,  a  prize-fighter. 

Deacon  Green — Oh !  I  thought  it  might  be  some- 
thing like  a  client. 

Ned — Well,  he's  coming  here,  and  you  must  talk  to 
him. 

Deacon  Green — What!  Me,  me,  Deacon  Zacha- 
riah  Green,  talk  to  a  prize-fighter?  Ye  make  my  blood 
run  cold. 

Ned — But  you  mustn't  say  anything  against  the  prize- 
ring  ;  he's  very  sensitive  on  the  subject,  and  although  he 
pretends  to  denounce  all  rings,  yet  he's  a  monomaniac  iu 
their  support. 

Deacon  Green — (Aside) — Another  critter  from  Bar- 
num's, I  reckon. 

Ned — You  must  favor  rings  with  all  your  might,  but 
you  must  not  let  him  say  too  much;  talk  all  you  can 
yourself;  he's  very  bhwdthirsty  when  excited. 

Deacon  Green — Goodness  gracious!  I'm  all  iu  a 
shiver. 

Ned — You  must  not  refuse  to  do  anything  he  asks  ;  if 
you  do,  he  will  crush  you  on  the  spot ;  he  has  already  an- 
nihilated seventeen  men. 

Deacon  CJrken — Oh,  Jiiniuy!  Deacon  Zachariah 
Green,  in  scattered  fragerments! 

Ned — Let  me  caution  you   against  one  thing  more; 


40  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

when  he  begins  to  pull  down  his  upper  lip,  you  will  know 
that  his  blood  is  getting  up  ;  to  quiet  him,  you  must  im- 
mediately respond  by  jerking  his  ear ;  he  will  probably 
then  pull  your  nose ;  but  keep  calm,  and  he  wont  hurt 
you  much. 

Deacon  Green — Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  I  wish  I'd 
stayed  to  hum !  Say,  cousin  Ned,  I  do  n't  want  to  see 
the  pugilist. 

Ned — But  you  must;  he's  coming  up  stairs  now.  Get 
into  my  private  r»X)m,  and  come  out  when  I  begin  to 
whistle. 

Deacon  Green — (Aside) — Oh,  Jiminy !  Lions,  and 
clients,  and  pugilists,  and  money-monkeys,  and  goodness 
knows  what !     Why  did  I  come  to  see  the  sights  !     ^Exit 

Ned — Ha !  ha !  ha !  He 's  the  easiest  game  I  ever  saw. 
Why,  he  believes  that  I  keep  a  whole  menagerie,  and  as 
for  that  Senator  Flurry,  he  is  the  worst  coward  in  town. 
Zach  will  regard  him  as  a  sanguinary  prize-fighter ;  that 's 
his  nickname  too,  by-the-way.  That  was  a  lucky  thought 
of  mine,  in  speaking  of  his  pulling  down  his  lip ;  it 's  a 
favorite  trick  of  his.  Now  for  preparing  the  worthy 
Senator  for  an  original  sensation. 

Enter  Senator  Flurry. 

Ned — And  how  does  my  honorable  friend  find  himself 
this  morning? 

Senator  Flurry — Your  honorable  friend  finds  him- 
self in  a  state  of  indignation  bordering  on  frenzy  ;  in  fact, 
it  is  only  the  strong  arm  of  the  law  that  prevents  my  slay- 
ing a  fellow-creature. 

Ned — You  positively  alarm  me!  Who  has  been  so 
heedless  as  to  incur  the  enmity  of  so  righteously  vindictive 
a  man  as  yourself? 

Senator  Flurry — You  may  well  say  vindictive;  I 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  41 

am  a  terrible  enemy,  when  roused  to  action.     My  dear 
Stone,  did  you  ever  see  me  roused  to  action  ? 

Ned — My  memory  fails  me. 

Senatok  Flurry — Ah,  but  you  should  !  You  should ! 
You  've  read  my  speech  against  the  Light  House  Ring — 
my  anti-humbug  speech  ? 

Ned — Every  word  of  it. 

Senator  Flurry — It  raised  a  tremendous  wind. 

Ned — Indeed  it  did.     (Aside.)   All  noise  and  bluster  1 

Senator  Flurry — And  yet,  after  crushing  Senator 
Bombast,  he  has  the  impudence  to  reply,  advocating  the 
very  fraud  I  denounced,  and  here's  his  speech  in  this 
morning's  paper.     It 's  monstrous  !  (Hands  paper.) 

Ned — Enormous  !  ( Glances  at  it,  and  lays  it  aside.) 
But  I  say,  my  dear  Flurry,  you  must  permit  me  to  intro- 
duce to  you  a  new  lion,  just  arrived  in  town ;  a  cele 
brated  man,  I  assure  you,  though  rather  eccentric. 

Senator  Flurry — Delighted  to  meet  all  the  lions,  1 
am  sure.     Is  he  approachable  at  present  ? 

Ned — Oh,  yes;  he's  in  the  next  room;  he's  an  actor, 
and  inimitable  in  his  line ;  you  would  think  that  he  was 
acting  all  the  time,  to  watch  hira. 

Senator  Flurry — I  should  like  to  see  him  perform. 

Ned — Nothing  will  please  him  more  than  to  have  you 
ask  him  to  give  you  a  specimen  ;  but  he  pretends  modesty, 
and  yyu  must  urge  him  very  hard ;  give  him  no  oppor 
tunity  to  refuse. 

Senator  Flurry — I  promise  you  I  will  not. 

Ned — He's  a  little  queer  in  his  head,  and  his  temper 
is  something  remarkable. 

Senator  Flurry — Indeed  ? 

Ned — Yes  ;  he  will  H.^ht,  on  the  least  provocation.  To 
keep  liiin  quiet,  yon  must  first  ask  liini  U)  declaini  ;  then, 
to  please  him,  denounce  all  church  officers ;  he  hates  them 


42  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

all,  especially  deacons.  At  all  events,  don't  let  him  talk 
too  much  or  he  will  get  ferocious,  and  keep  close  to  him  ; 
if  he  gets  beyond  control,  gently  pull  his  nose ;  it  will  do 
him  good. 

Senator  Flurry — An  original  character,  truly.  But 
are  all  these  precautions  necessary  ? 

Ned — Oh,  entirely  so ;  unless  you  wish  to  be  eaten  alive. 

Senator  Flurry — No,  thank  you.  {Aside.)  I  wish  I 
were  out  of  this ! 

Ned — (  Whistling) — I  think  he 's  coming  in  now.  Re- 
member to  act  boldly,  or  he  will  challenge  you  on  the 

spot. 

Enter  Deacon  Green,  nervously. 

Ned — (Going  to  him) — You  must  let  me  call  you 
Roscius. 

Deacon  Green — Say,  cousin  Ned,  I  want  to  go  home! 

Ned — Hush  !  Keep  your  courage  up  ;  act  boldly,  or 
he  will  demolish  you  on  the  spot. 

Deacon  Green — (Aside) — My !  How  wild  he  looks ! 

Senator  Flurry — (Aside) — What  a  ferocious  char- 
acter. 

Ned — Gentlemen,  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  introduce  two 
such  popular  lions  to  each  other.  Mr.  Roscius,  Mr.  Flurry : 
Mr.  Flurry,  Mr.  Roscius. 

Senator  Flurry — ( Quickly) — Enthusiastically  emo- 
tionalized at  grasping  you  by  the  hand. 

(Shakes  hands  vigorously.) 

Deacon  Green — That's  perlite,  I'm  sure.  I'm  the 
same  way  myself,  with  a  respect  to  your  superior  fist, 
(Aside.)     Jerusha !     What  a  grip  ! 

Senator  Flurry — Your  reputation  is  only  excelled 
by  your  ability.     (Aside.)  What  a  capital  actor ! 

Deacon  Green — So  it  is !  So  it  is,  Mr.  Pugi — I  mean 
Mr.  Fussy/     I— I— I— 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  43 

Senator  Flurry— Capital !  Capital !  My  dear  sir, 
I  never  saw  such  a  power  of  imitation. 

Deacon  Green — I  agree  with  ye,  squire.  I  'in  right 
up  with  ye.  (Aside.)  I  mustn't  disagree,  or  he'll  chaw 
me  up! 

Ned — Gentlemen,  may  I  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  as  busi- 
ness demands  my  time  ?  I  know  that  you  will  be  excel- 
lent company  for  each  other. 

(  Goes  to  one  side,  where  he  can  watch.) 

Deacon  Green — (Aside) — Oh,  lor!  He's  left  me 
with  the  money-monkey.  Wall,  I  must  talk,  I  s'pose. 
(Aloud.)  I  hope  business  is  good,  squire '? 

Senator  Flurry — There's  nothing  particular  on  just 
now,  except  a  little  sparring  between  Bombast  and  myself. 

Deacon  Green — He 's  in  the  ring,  hey  ? 

Senator  Flurry — Yes ;  he  is  in  the  ring. 

Deacon  Green — I  reckon  ye  polished  him  off?  (Aside.) 
That's  the  way  these  pugifists  talk,  I  guess. 

Senator  Flurry — Yes ;  I  knocked  him  completely 
off  his  feet. 

Deacon  Green — Sho!  (Aside.)  He'll  serve  me  same 
way,  mebbe. 

Senator  Flurry — I  hope  we  shall  hear  you  in  public, 
before  long  ? 

Deacon  Green — Wall,  I  may  say  somethin'  in  meetin'. 

Sknator  Flurry — Capital  acting !  Capital !  (Aside.) 
If  I  did  n't  know,  I  should  say  he  was  a  gcnuiue  Yankee. 

Deacon  Green — So  it  is,  squire!  So  it  is!  (Aside.) 
I  wonder  what  on  airth  he's  talkin'  abeout! 

Senator  Flurry — Y(nir  life  on  the  boards  must  have 
brought  you  a  queer  experience. 

Deacon  Green — Wall,  no,  not  'xactly  ;  my  dad,  he 
run  a  saw-mill,  and  I  did  Jurn  a  littli;  of  the  business. 

Senator  Flurry — You  're  inclined  to  facetiouauesa. 


44  STERONG    DIALOGUES 

Deacon  Green — No,  I  aint,  squire ;  I  'm  all  right ; 
there  aint  nothing  the  matter  with  me. 

Senator  Flurry — Ha,  ha!  Capital!  You'll  draw 
a  big  house. 

Deacon  Green — Reckon  I  can,  squire.  I  drawed 
Jonese's  house  from  down  'side  the  grist  mill,  way  up  top 
of  Pumpkin  Hill ;  me  and  my  oxen  done  it  alone. 

Senator  Flurry — Delicious!  Your  humor  is  re- 
freshing. 

Deacon  Green — No  it  aint,  not  a  bit  of  it.  (Aside.) 
What's  he  a-drivin'  at,  auyway? 

Senator  Flurry — Oh,  but  it  is,  it  is !  I  insist  upon 
it. 

Deacon  Green — So  it  is,  so  it  is !  if  ye  insist.  (Aside.) 
He's  gettin'  ready  to  punch  me,  I  know. 

Senator  Flurry — Now  if  I  had  a  little  wit  like  yours, 
to  use  against  these  rings. 

Deacon  Green — Ye  can't  possibly  mean  against  the 
ring,  squire ;  the  ring  is  a  noble  institution — 

Senator  Flurry — Sir ;  monstrous ! 

Deacon  Green — ^Ye  can 't  possibly  speak  agin  it ;  it 's 
the  right  of  every  citizen  to  fight  in  the  ring  and  for  the 
ring,  as  you,  who  are  the  best  man  in  the  ring,  the  leader 
of  all  rings — 

Senator  Flurry — Sir — I — 

Deacon  Green — I  can't  hear  ye  speak  agin  it. 
(Aside.)  Keep  it  up,  Zachariah  !  Keep  it  up !  (Aloud.) 
No,  squire,  ye  may  pretend  modesty,  but  it  wont  work 
with  me,  for  I  know  what  a  champion  ye  be  in  the  ring. 
Long  life  to  it,  then.     (Aside.)     There,  I 'm  safe ! 

Senator  Flurry — 'Aside) — He's  verging  on  the 
ferocious !  (Aloud.)  My  dear  Roscius,  your  ardor  does 
you  credit;  you  would  fill  my  place  with  your  oratorical 
powers  and  put  me  to  the  blush. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  41 

Deacon  Green — No ;  I  aiut  much  on  my  pugifist. 

Senator  Flurry — (Aside) — Some  theatrical  term, 
probably.  {Aloud.)  I  must  entreat  you  to  give  me  a 
specimen  of  your  dramatic  powers ;  a  selection  from 
Shakspeare,  or  some  simple  little  poem. 

Deacon  Green — Poem  ?     I  don 't  know  no  poem. 

Senator  Flurry — You're  too  modest!  Your  brain 
must  be  teeming  over  with  gems. 

Deacon  Green — I  aint  much  troubled  that  way. 

Senator  Flurry — But  you  must  give  me  something. 
I  insist.     You  must !     You  shall ! 

Deacon  Green — Wall,  then.  (Aside.)  He'll  finish 
me  if  I  don't.     (Aloud.) 

"  Mary  had  a  little  lamb, 

Its  fleece  was  white  as  snow, 
And  everywhere  that  Mary  went 
The  Iamb  was  sure  to  go." 

Senator  Flurry — Excellent !     Go  on !     Do  go  on  ! 
Deacon  Green — (Aside) — He's  doubling  up  his  fists! 
(Alovd.) 

"  It  followed  her  to  school  one  day, 
Which  was  against  the  rule, 
And  made  the  scholars  laugh  and  play, 
To  see  a  lamb  at  school." 

I  don't  know  no  more.  'Pon  my  word,  I  don't,  Mr. 
Fuzzy ;  I  don't,  as  a  good  deacon. 

Senator  Flurry — Ha,  ha !  This  is  too  good  !  How 
capitally  you  hit  off  those  whining  deacons.  I  detest 
them,  and  I  always  want  to  have  a  round  with  them ! 

Deacon  Green — (Aside) — He 's  gettin' savage !  Oh, 
dear!  (Aloud.) — So  do  I,  squire;  So  do  I!  But,  oh 
lor!  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  who  would  talk  agin  rings. 
I'd  have  his  life  on  the  spot. 

Senator   Flurry — (Aside.) — Bless  me,  I'm  getting 


46  8TERTJNG    DIALOGUES 

shaky!  What  did  Stone  say  would  pacify  him?  1 
know.  (Aloud.)  Now,  my  dear  Roscius,  you  must  gratify 
me  with  a  reading. 

Deacon  Green — Oh,  but  squire — 

Senator  Flurry — Nothing  but  a  reading  will  satisfy 
me.     I'm  getting  excited  to  hear  you  read. 

Deacon  Green — (Aside) — Ned  said  he  was  blood- 
thirsty when  excited.  (Aloud.)  Wall,  1  can't  disoblige 
ye.  (Takes  up  paper.)  Here's  a  good  thing,  I  guess. 
(Reads.^  "  Gentlemen  of  this  honorable  body,  I  rise  tc» 
denounce  a  villain  who  rears  his  head  amongst  us — " 

Senator  Fi^vhry— (Aside)— Why,  that's  Bombast'fc 
speech.     (Aloud.)     Stop !  my  dear  sir,  stop ! 

Deacon  Green — (Aside) — Ned  said  to  keep  on,  and 
not  give  him  a  chance. 

Senator  Flurry — (Aside) — I  must  near  him  at  all 
risks.     (Edges  toward  Deacon  Green,  who  edges  away.) 

Deacon  Green — "  He  pretends  that  in  purchasing  a 
new  site  and  erecting  a  new  light-house,  instead  of  buy- 
ing his  worthless  property,  that  we  do  the  State  an  injury. 
Gentlemen,  what  are  his  motives  ? —  " 

Senator  Flurry — Stop!  I  wont  hear  any  more' 
(Aside.)     He's  getting  wild!     His  blood  is  up ! 

Deacon  Green — "  Gentlemen,  those  motives  are  per- 
sonal profit ;  personal  gratification  ;  personal  meanness  I 
He  wishes  us  to  take  his  old  barn  for  a  light-house  and  to 
erect  a  tower  from  the  hay-loft — " 

Senator  Flurry — Stop !  stop ! 

Deacon  Green — "And  yet  this  monster  has  dared  to 
accuse  us  of  corrupt  principles,  of  f-r-a-u-d-fraudulent  pro- 
ceedings, in  regard  to  the  Light-house  Bill." 

Senator  Flurry — (Aside) — What  shall  I  do  to  quiet 
him  ?  (Pulls  his  lip.) 

Deacon  Green — (Aside) — Jerusha!     There's  his  lip 


STERLING   DIAI-OGUES 


47 


a-comin'   down.     I  feel  his  fist  already.     I'll  try  Ned's 

i„  (Grabs  his  ear.) 

remedy.  ^  ■' 

Senator    Flurry— Ustde)— He's  violent;   I'll  try 

Stone's  remedy.  C^«^^^  ^^  ^««^-) 

Deacon  Green— Oh,  Mr.  Fusty,  don't,  please  don't! 

(  Gi'abs  a  chair.) 

Senator  Flurry— Let  go  my  ear,  Roscius,  do! 

(Does  the  same.) 

Deacon   Green— Do  n"t   you  strike  me,  then.  Prize- 
fighter. 

Senator  Flurry— Prize-fighter  ?    What  do  you  cail 
a  member  of  the  legislature  a  prize-fighter  for,  Roscius  ? 

Deacon  Green — My  name  aint  Roscius. 

Senator  Flurry— I  'm  not  a  prize-fighter. 

Deacon  Green — Ned  told  me  so. 

Senator  Flurry— He  said  your  name  was  Roscius. 

Deacon  Green  — I'm  Deacon   Zachariah  Green  of 

Squash  Hollow. 

Senator    Flurry  — And    I'm    Xenophon    Flurry, 

Senator. 

Deacon  Green— Squire,  I  reckon  I  'ra  sold. 
Senator  Flurry— And  so  am  I ;  by  Ned  Stone. 

lExit  Ned. 

Deacon  Green— He  said  ye  was  a  lion. 

Senator  Flurry— He  represented  you  as  one. 

Deacon  Green— Let's  go  and  pay  him  up.  I'm 
ready  if  yc  be,  if  I  am  a  deacon. 

Senator  Flurry — So  we  will. 

Deacon  Green— Jerushy  but  ye  scared  me! 

Senator  Flurry— I  never  lost  my  equanimity.  But 
come,  let  us  .show  him  that  we  still  are— 

Both— A  Pair  of  Lions. 

[  Curtain.'] 


48  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

THE  CONJUGATING  GERMAN. 


CHARACTERS :— John,  an  Englishman. 

Jonathan,  an  American. 
Gottlieb,  a  grave  looking  German. 


Scene  I. — A  restaurant.    John  and  Jonathan  seated  together  at 
one  end  of  a  table  and  Gottlieb  at  the  other. 

John — {To  Jonathan) — Sir,  did  you  hear  of  that 
celebrated  dwarf  that  has  arrived  in  the  city  ? 

Gottlieb — {Before  Jonathan  has  time  to  answer) — 
I  arrive,  thou  arrivest,  he  arrives ;  we  arrive,  you  arrive, 
they  arrive. 

John — {Looking  around  at  Gottlieb  in  surprise) — 
Did  you  speak  to  me,  sir  ? 

Gottlieb — I  speak,  thou  speakest,  he  speaks;  we 
speak,  you  speak,  they  speak. 

John — {Angrily) — How  is  this  ?  Do  you  mean  to  in- 
sult me  ? 

Gottlieb — I  insult,  thou  insultest,  he  insults;  we 
insult,  you  insult,  they  insult. 

John — {iStill  more  angrily) — This  is  too  much !  I 
will  have  satisfaction  !  If  you  have  any  spirit  with  your 
rudeness  come  along  with  me. 

Gottlieb — {Arising  and  following  John  without  any 
resistance;  while  Jonathan  in  the  rear  looks  on  with  sur- 
prise and  interest) — I  come,  thou  comest,  he  comes ;  we 
come,  you  come,  they  come. 

[  Curtain.'] 

Scene  II.— An  alley. 

John — {Flourishing  a  loaded  cane  threateningly) — Now 
sir,  you  must  fight  me ! 

Gottlieb — {Coolly  disarming  his  antagonist) — I  fight, 
thou  fightest,  he  fights  ;  we  fight,  you  fight,  they  fight. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  49 

John — {In  a  milder  tone) — Well,  you  have  the  best  ^)f 
it,  and  I  hope  you  are  satisfied. 

Gottlieb — I  am  satisfied,  thou  art  satisfied,  ne  is  satis- 
fied ;  we  are  satisfied,  you  are  satisfied,  they  are  satisfied. 

John — I  am  glad  everybody  is  satisfied.  But  pray, 
leave  ofi*  quizzing  me  in  this  strange  manner ;  and  tell  me 
what  your  object,  if  you  have  any,  is  in  doing  so  ? 

Gottlieb — I  am  a  German  ;  and  am  learning  the  Eng- 
lish language.  I  find  it  very  difficult  to  remember  the 
peculiarities  of  the  verbs  ;  and  my  tutor  has  advised  me, 
in  order  to  fix  them  in  my  mind,  to  conjugate  every  Eng- 
lish verb  that  I  hear  spoken.  This  I  have  made  it  a  rule 
to  do.  I  don't  like  to  have  my  plans  broken  in  upon, 
while  they  are  in  operation,  or  I  would  have  told  you  of 
this  before. 

Jonathan — (Laughing  heartily) — Really,  gentlemen, 
this  is  a  pleasant  ending  to  what,  a  few  minutes  ago, 
threatened  to  be  a  very  unpleasant  aflTair ;  and  we  see, 
herein  exemplified,  two  prominent  national  traits  of 
character,  namely,  German  perseverance,  and  an  Eng- 
lishman's determination  to  obtain  satisfaction  for  insulted 
dignity,  whether  personal  or  national.  Come !  Let  us 
go  back  into  the  restaurant  now,  and  dine  together. 

Gottlieb — (As  the  three  retire  from  the  stage) — I  will 
dine,  thou  wilt  dine,  he  will  dine;  we  will  dine,  you  will 
dine,  they  will  dine. 

Jonathan — And  we'U  all  dine  together. 

[  Curtain.'] 

NoTK.— Gottlieb's  portioH  of  the  above  may  be  Germanizod,  i/ 
'eemed  expedient. 


60  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

WHERE  THERE'S  A  WILL  THERE'S  A  WAY. 

A   DRAMATIC   PEOVERB. 


CHARACTERS :— Mr.  Lancey. 
Mrs.  Lancey. 
Mary,  their  Daughter. 


Scene. — A  parlor.    Mary  and  her  mother  sewing.    Mr.  Lancey 
pacing  the  floor  and  making  extravagant  gestures. 

Mr.  Lancey — It  is  a  vile  weed,  poisons  the  blood, 
renders  me  obnoxious  to  my  wife  and  children ;  I  will  use 
no  more  of  it.  (Throivs  something  out  of  the  window.) 

Mrs.  Lancey — Edward,  what  is  it  you  are  throwing 
awaj? 

Mr.  Lancey — My  tobacco !     "Was  it  not  well  done  ? 

Mrs.  Lancey — {Aside  to  Mary) — Go  secretly  and  get 
It,  he  will  want  it  again.  \_Exit  Mary. 

Mr.  Lancey — ( Gesticulating') — Never  shall  that  sweet 
daughter  look  at  me  with  reproach  in  her  face.  Never 
shall  my  patient  wife  upbraid  me.  Now  at  last  I  am 
"  unashamed  of  soul."     Mary,  where  are  my  spectacles? 

Enter  Mary. 

Mary — {Placing  tobacco  on  the  shelf) — Here,  papa. 
{Giving  him  spectacles.)  I  found  them  in  a  pan  of 
milk.  But,  indeed,  you  need  not  have  thrown  away  your 
tobacco. 

Mr.  Lancey — Say  not  a  word !  Do  I  not  know  your 
prejudices?  "To  a  father  waxing  old,  nothing  is  dearer 
than  a  daughter."  It  pleases  me  to  do  this,  nay,  I  would 
gladly  do  more  for  my  little  Mary.  Ah,  Avife,  what  a 
comfort  our  children  have  been  to  us  !  Do  you  remember 
the  first  year  we  were  married,  how  we  lived  in  that 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  51 

yellow  house  at  Nantucket,  and  ate  our  meals  from  that 
little  round  table,  with  only  the  cat  for  company  ? 

Mrs.  Lancey — Ah,  yes,  Edward. 

Mr.  Lancey — Not  a  chick  or  child  in  the  house.  Do 
you  remember  it,  Mary  ? 

Mary — Father,  you  forget,  I  was  not  born  then.  In- 
deed I  never  saw  Nantucket,  and  the  two  older  ones  have 
never  been  there. 

Mr.  Lancey — Yes,  yes,  child  ;  what  a  dunce  I  am.  I 
sometimes  think  I  am  like  poor  George  the  Third,  who 
would  have  been  a  wise  man  if  his  brains  had  done  him 
any  good.  (Puts  hand  to  his  head.) 

Mrs.  Lancey — Dear  Edward,  how  is  your  head  this 
morning  ? 

Mr.  Lancey — It's  a  whirligig,  it's  a  top,  it's  a  double 
and  twisted  locomotive.  (  Walks  to  right  and  left)  It  may 
seem  very  foolish  to  ask  such  a  question ;  but  if  you  will 
be  so  kind  as  to  show  me  which  is  the  hall  door,  I  shall 
be  greatly  obliged.  Time  was  when  I  knew  that  door  like 
my  A  B  C's.  (  Wife  goes  out  with  him, ) 

Mrs.  Lancey — (Returning) — Dear,  afflicted  man  ;  I 
fear  he  grows  rapidly  worse. 

Mary — But,  mother,  there  may  be  hope ;  let  us  not 
despair. 

Mrs.  Lancey — There  is  no  hope,  Mary,  in  such  a  case 
aa  your  father's.  Softening  of  the  brain  has  already 
commenced. 

Mary — It  is  very,  very  sad.  But,  mother,  is  it  not  con- 
.^oling  to  reflect  that  this  dreadful  calamity  has  not  been 
caused  by  intemperance  ? 

Mrs.  Lancey — You  are  a  sweet  comforter,  my  cliild. 
If  the  present  is  ever  so  dark,  you  turn  it  around  till  you 
find  a  bright  spot  on  it. 

(Bell  rings,  and  Mary  goa  to  the  door.) 


52  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Mary — (^Returning) — Here  is  a  bill  from  the  firm  ot 
Comstock  &  Co.     Let  us  see  what  it  can  be. 

(  Opens  and  read* ;) 

Dr.    For  7  horse-shoes,  $  2.50. 

"     5  prs.  andirons,  10.00. 

"     1  bbl.  shoe-pegs,  3.00. 

O  mother,  mother. 

For  1  Cant  Dog  Beam — 
Now  pray  tell  me  what  can  that  be  ? 

Mrs.  Lancey — O  Mary,  I  do  not  know ;  I  have  heard 
the  term,  "  cant  dog  beam  "  used  by  lumbermen,  and  so  I 
presume,  in  his  dazed  way,  your  poor  father  has  been 
dreaming  he  is  going  to  drive  logs. 

Mary — And  make  shoes,  too,  mother,  or  why  did  he 
buy  a  barrel  of  pegs  ?  And  he  intends  to  be  a  blacksmith 
at  the  same  time,  hence  his  seven  horse-shoes.  Poor  dear 
papa. 

Mrs.  Lancey  —  And  here  we  have  barely  money 
enough  for  your  next  music  bill,  and  the  new  dress  which 
you  so  sorely  need.    Mary,  what  shall  we  do  ? 

Mary — Wait,  mamma,  I  have  it.  The  drayman  is 
even  now  at  the  back  yard  with  his  preposterous  load  of 
shoe-pegs,  andirons  and  horse-shoes ;  I  will  run  and  tell 
him  to  carry  them  all  back  again.  He  surely  will  not 
refuse. 

Mrs.  Lancey — Do  so,  my  child.  Tell  him  your  father 
is  not  accountable  for  his  purchases.  We  must  persuade 
Mr.  Clomstock  not  to  trust  him  again.  \_Exit  Mary. 

Enter  Mr.  Lancey. 

Mr.   Lancey — I   can't    find   it.      (With  excitement^ 

Can't  find   it.      Have    been    searching    these   premises 

like  a  lynx-eyed  constable,  and  I  tell  you   it's  gone — 

vanished — taken  to  itself  wings.     My  kingdom  for  a  fig. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  53 

Mrs.  Lancey — My  good  husband,  compose  yourself. 
What  is  it  you  have  lost  ? 

Mr.  Lancey — A  pocket  full  of  tobacco.  J.  had  it  this 
morning,  but  now  it's  gone.  "Tobacco  gone,  all's  gone. 
Better  never  have  been  born  !  " 

Mrs.  Lancey — {Aside) — Poor  man.  Who  with  a 
heart  would  deny  him  the  paltry  comfort  of  such  a  thing 
as  this?  {Gives  him  the  paper  of  tobacco  from  the  sfielf.) 
There,  put  it  away,  dear,  and  don't  lose  it  again. 

Mr.  Laxcey — {Putting  it  in  a  silver  case.)  Thank 
you,  Emily,  with  all  my  heart.  Your  unwearied  kind- 
ness reminds  me — reminds  me — of  a  proverb,  but  I 
declare  I  can 't  think  what  it  is.  Perhaps  it 's  this :  "  An 
egg  to-day  is  better  than  a  hen  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Lancey — {Smiling) — A  good  proverb,  Edward ; 
but  not  particularly  to  the  point. 

Enter  Mary. 

Mary  —  {Breathless,  with  bonnet  on) — O  mother,  I 
couldn't  make  the  drayman  stop.  He  insisted  upon 
unloading  those  ridiculous  barrels.  So  there  was  noth- 
ing I  could  do  but  go  round  to  Mr.  Comstock's  myself, 
and  try  to  reason  with  him. 

Mrs.  Lancey — I  hope  he  relented. 

Mary — No  indeed,  mamma.  He  said  a  bargain  was  a 
bargain,  and  if  my  father  had  bought  a  cart  load  of  street 
mud,  it  would  be — 

Mrs.  Lancey — Scarcely  more  absurd. 

Mr.  Lancey — Why,  wife,  why  Mary,  who  has  been 
buying  trumpery  ?     Not  L 

Mkh.  Lancky — (Kindly) — Some  articles  you  have  sent 
home,  dear,  will  he  of  no  use  in  our  family.  We  can  not 
eat  pegs,  an<l  we  have  no  horses  to  be  sliod.  Try  and  re- 
membei  uext  tiine  not  to  make  any  purchases  at  all.    You 


54  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

say  your  head  whirls  very  uupleasantly,  and  Mary  and  I 
ought  to  spare  you  the  trouble  of  providing  for  the  fiamily. 

Mr.  Lanoey — Now,  Emily,  I  can  not  consent  to  bur- 
den you  so  much.  It  is  not  only  my  duty,  it  is  a  positive 
pleasure  to  me  to  occupy  my  mind  with  planning  pleasant 
little  suprises  for  you  and  Mary. 

(Fumbles  for  door ;  assisted  by  Mrs.  Lancey,  goes  out.) 

Mrs.  Lancey — [Sighing) — Pleasant  surprises.  Mary, 
what  shall  we  do?     This  bill  is  a  heavy  one. 

Mary — Mamma,  I  've  been  thinking,  and  as  one  plan 
has  failed  us,  we  must  try  another.  If  Mr.  Comstock  will 
insist  upon  being  paid,  why,  I  can  go  without  my  new  dress. 

Mrs.  Lancey — Bless  my  dear  girl. 

(Bell  rings,  Mary  goes  to  door.) 

iMary — (^Returning,  with  another  bill) — This  is  for  rides. 
Dear  papa,  he  must  have  recreation. 

Mrs.  Lancey — (Holding  up  her  hands) — Fortunately 
he  never  thinks  of  driving  a  horse  himself,  otherwise  I 
should  live  in  continual  fear.  But,  Mary,  how  much  is 
this  bill  ? 

Mary — It  is  twenty-five  dollars,  and  mother,  I  have 
already  decided  that  I  will  give  up  my  next  quarter's 
music.  It  is,  after  all,  a  small  sacrifice  to  make  to  such  a 
father  (sighs)  as  mine  was  once. 

Mrs.  Lancey — My  heart  aches  at  the  thought  of  it ; 
but  really  if  you  can  consent  to  it,  I  suppose  it  must  be 
done.     I  see  no  alternative. 

Enter  Mr.  Lancey. 

Mr.  Lancey — (  With  old  ragged  stuffed  chair  upon  his 
back) — Here,  Emily,  is  a  pleasant  surprise. 

Mrs.  Lancey — (Looking  aghast) — Why,  Edward, 
what  now  ? 

Mr.   Lancey — (Throunng   himself  panting   upon  the 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  65 

lounge) — I  brought  it  all  the  way  ou  my  back.  I  thought, 
in  the  words  of  the  poet,  "  My  streugth  is  as  the  strength 
of  ten,  because  my  heart  is  pure."  Still  it  has  fatigued 
me,  you  see. 

Mrs.  Lancey — Then  why  bring  it  at  all,  my  love? 
I  'm  sure  there 's  no  place  in  the  house  for  it,  and  the  lum- 
ber room  is  full ! 

Mr.  Lancey — Lumber  room,  indeed  !  Why,  Emily, 
this  chair  is  a  hundred  years  old. 

Mrs.  Lancey — I  can  easily  believe  it. 

Mr.  Lancey — (^Panting) — I  bought  it  at  auction,  and 
I  assure  you  I  had  to  bid  pretty  high. 

Mrs.  Lancey — I  am  surprised  !  Who  could  have  bid 
against  you  for  such  a  hideous  ruin  as — 

Mary — {Aside) — Be  careful,  mother,  you  will  wound 
his  feelings. 

Mr.  Lancey — Who  bid  against  me  ?  Why  the  rela- 
tives of  the  family,  to  be  sure.  You  must  know,  Emily, 
thb  is  a  precious  heirloom. 

Mary — {Laughing,  and  turning  it  over  and  looking  ai 
the  bottom  of  it) — It  is  called  a  loom,  perhaps,  because  it's 
covered  with  webs — cobwebs. 

Mrs.  Lancey — But,  Edward,  who  were  the  family 
relatives,  and  where  was  the  auction  ? 

Mr.  Lancey — The  family  relatives  were  the  Pickards, 
the  Jewetts,  and  the — the — I  forget  the  names.  And  the 
auction  was  at — at — 

Mary — The  widow  Pickard's,  I  presume.  I  noticed  a 
red  flag  as  I  passed  the  house  just  now. 

Mrs,  Lancky — (Smiling) — Well,  then,  this  is  an  heir- 
loom to  me,  too.  Mrs.  Pickard,  you  know,  is  my  cousin. 
I  belong  to  a  branch  of  the  family. 

Mary — Delightful !  So  you  do !  It  is  not  so  bad, 
after  all. 


56  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Mr.  Lancey — Your  mother  is  pleased.  I  knew  slifl 
would  be.     But  here  is  the  bill  for  the  chair. 

( Gives  it  to  Mrs.  Lancey,  and  exit) 

Mrs.  Lancey — (Reads) — Thirty  dollars!  O  Mary, 
Mary,  I  am  afraid  we  shall  be  obliged  to  put  your  poor 
papa  in  a  Lunatic  Asylum.  You  are  fertile  in  inventions ; 
now  tell  me  what  we  can  do  in  such  a  dilemma  ?  Where 
can  we  raise  money  to  pay  for  this  article,  which  nobody 
wants? 

Mary — Dear  mother,  I  can 't  think  just  yet ;  though 
no  doubt  the  idea  will  occur  to  me  all  in  good  time. 
Meanwhile,  since  we  feel  disturbed  in  mind,  and  can  not 
sit  down  quietly  to  our  sewing,  suppose  we  employ  our- 
selves in  covering  this  precious  heir-loom  with  patch  ?  It 
will  be  a  capital  lounging-chair,  after  all,  for  father. 

Mrs.  Lancey — But  where  is  the  patch  to  come  from, 
little  sunbeam  ?  (Smiles.) 

Mary — Don't  you  remember  the  drab  and  blue?  It's 
in  the  clothes-press,  I  will  bring  it. 

Mrs.  Lancey — Not  now,  dear.  Bring  the  claw-ham- 
mer.    We  will  first  remove  this  ragged  velvet. 

[Exit  Mary. 
Enter  Mary. 

Mary — Here  is  the  hammer.  (Examines  chair.)  Why, 
mother,  what  is  this  ?  There 's  a  hole  here  as  big  as  a 
bird's  nest !  (Puts  in  her  hand.)  And  here,  away  down 
under  the  horse-hair,  is  a  quantity  of  paper. 

Mrs.  Lancey — Take  it  out  carefully.  It  is  probably 
some  old  newspaper,  and  its  ancient  appearance  will  be 
interesting. 

Mary — (  Taking  out  yellow  paper) — This  is  not  a  news- 
paper ;  it  ie  more  like  parchment.  It  has  a  blue  seal  and 
a  coat  of  arms.  (Beads  :)  "  I,  Joshua  Boardman,  being 
of  sound  mind,  and — " 


STERLING  DIALOGUES  57 

Mrs.  Lancey— Why,  Mary,  Mary  Lancey,  that  is  a 
WILL  !  Give  it  to  me.  {Takes  it  eagerly.  Reads  ;)  "  Do 
give  and  bequeath — "  Mary,  this  is  the  true  will,  the  lost 
will  of  your  great-grandfather  Boardman. 

(Sits  down,  ivmngs  her  hands.) 

Mary — Well,  mother,  why  don't  you  speak?  Why 
don't  you  read  it  ? 

Mrs.  Lancey — I  am  overwhelmed,  my  child.  This 
gives  to  the  heirs  of  James  Boardman, — James,  do  you 
observe? — all  right  and  title  to  the  estate,  worth — why, 
Mary,  it 's  worth  now  one  hundred  thousand.  It  is  the — I 
can't  recover  my  breath,  this  is  so  startling — the  estate 
unlawfully  possessed  by  the  Jewetts.     It's — 

Mary — I'm  befogged.  You  are  an  heir  of  James 
Boardman  ? 

Mrs.  Lancey — Yes,  sole  surviving  heir !  This  estate, 
Mary,  is  mine  beyond  question.  This  will  was  secreted 
years  ago.  I  have  heard  there  was  a  search  made  for  it 
iu  the  days  of  my  ancestors.  Now,  by  what  we  call  an 
accident,  it  has  come  to  light. 

Mary — Murder  will  out,  and  so  will  a  will.  Now, 
mother,  we  can  pay  for  the  chair.  I  told  you  an  idea 
would  come  into  my  head.  I  knew  there  would  be  some 
plan  by  which  we  could  raise  the  money. 

Mrs.  Lancey — I  hoped  there  might  be;  but,  my  dear 
girl,  I  did  not  dream  it  would  be  exactly  in  tlii«  way.  Let 
us  be  thankful  for  our  great  and  unexpected  blessing. 

Mauy — Dear  manmia,  I  see  now  tbe  means  of  settling 
all  our  difficulties,  both  present  and  future.  Every  thing 
looks  bright.    I  am  reminded  of  the  hackneyed  proverb — 

Mils.  Lancey — Please  don't  say  what  it  is.  Let  the 
uudience  find  it  out,  if  they  can.  (Both  bow.') 

[  Curtain.^ 


68  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

OTHER  PEOPLE'S  CHILDREN. 


CHARACTERS :— Mrs.  Brown,  "l 


Mrs.  Green,    >  Neighbors. 
Mrs.  Jones,    J 
Howard,  Mrs.  Green's  son. 
William  Henry,  Mrs.  Brown's  son. 


Scene. — A  street  in  a  country  village,  in  front  of  Mrs.  Green's 
residence ;  Mrs.  Green  sweeping  front  jjorch,  accosted  .by  Mrs. 
Brown. 

Mrs.  Brown — I  say,  Mrs.  Green,  if  you  want  peace 
with  the  world,  and  all  besides,  you  may  just  commence 
this  very  day,  keeping  your  children  at  home,  for  I  can 
not,  and  will  not  be  bothered  with  them  any  longer. 

Mrs.  Green — Keep  my  children  at  home  ?  Why,  Mrs. 
Brown,  you  surprise  me !  I  think  I  should  be  committing 
a  sin,  if  I  should  deprive  my  children  the  benefit  of  our 
schools  and  our  religious  services  on  the  Sabbath.  My 
friend,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  you  mean. 

Mrs.  Brown — (Aside) — I  am  no  friend  of  hers.  (To 
Mrs.  Green.)    Only  yesterday,  one  of  my — 

Mrs.  Green — I  am  still  puzzled  to  know  what  you 
mean !  Perhaps  the  quickest  and  best  way  to  approach 
the  subject,  will  be  to  ask  you  to  explain  yourself,  for  I 
am  growing  very  impatient. 

Mrs.  Brown — If  you  had  been  half  as  patient  as  I 
know  I  have  been,  you  would  have  known  ere  this.  As 
I  was  going  to  say :  only  yesterday  my  second  boy,  Wil- 
liam Henry,  came  as  straight  into  the  house  as  he  could 
come,  and  told  me  your  boy  made  a  continual  face  at  him 
all  the  time  he  was  passing  the  house.  If  it  had  been 
the  first  time,  or  I  knew  it  would  have  been  the  last,  I  'd 
have  just  let  it  pass  by  without  mentioning  it. 

Mrs.  Green — If  Howard  has  done  such  a  thing  as  you 
speak  of,  he  shall  be  severely  reprimgjided  for  it.     I  hear 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  59 

fiim  now  in  the  back  yard,  and  will  call  him.     Howard .' 

Howard  !     {Speaking  louder  the  last  time.) 

Howard  —  {Behind   the  curtain) — What  is  wanting. 

mother? 

Enter  Howakd. 

Mrs.  Green — Mrs.  Brown  and  I  are  having  a  little 
difficulty  here,  and  as  you  seem  to  be  the  main  cause  of  it, 
I  thought  it  best  to  speak  to  you,  and  correct  you  for  a 
very  great  fault  that  I  hear  you  have  committed. 

Howard — Me,  mother? 

Mrs.  Brown — Innocence,  oh,  innocence !  (Putting  on 
a  dreadful  frown.) 

Mrs.  Green — Yes,  Mrs.  Brown  tells  me  you  have 
been  making  faces  at  her  little  boy,  which  I  think  to  be 
very  wrong. 

Howard — Why,  mother,  I  can  not  think  when  I  did 
such  a  thing. 

Mrs.  Brown — Yesterday ! 

Mrs.  Green — (At  the  same  time) — She  says  you  did  it 
yesterday. 

Howard — I  can  not  remember  it. 

Enter  William  Henry,  walking  by,  with  a  slouched 
hat  on,  and  both  pockets  full  of  apples  that  he  is  try- 
ing to  hide. 

Mrs.  Brown — William  Henry,  dear,  just  wait  a  minute. 
Didn't  you  tell  me  that  Howard  Green  made  a  face  at 
you  yesterday  ? 

William  Henry — Yes  I  jist  did,  and  I'm  going  to 
flax  him  for  it,  yit. 

Mrs.  Brown  —  (Addressing  Howard)  —  Now,  my 
young  man,  you  have  two  things  to  answer  for.  First, 
making  faces  at  my  boy ;  and  second,  telling  a  plain^ 
try-to-get-out-of-it. 


60  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Howard — I  am  going  to  confess  all  that  I  am  guilty 
of.  William  Henry,  what  time  yesterday  did  you  see  me? 

William  Henry — Jist  after  breakfast,  while  the  first 
bell  was  ringing  for  school. 

Howard — {Laughing) — I  can  now  explain  the  whole 
thing.  Don't  you  remember,  mother,  how  my  tooth  had 
been  aching  all  the  morning,  and  I  had  just  consented  to 
have  it  drawn  as  the  first  school-bell  commenced  ringing  ? 

Mrs.  Green — I  do  now,  indeed. 

Howard — I  think  now  it  is  a  plain  case,  without  much 
further  argument.  I  was  going  by  your  house,  Mrs. 
Brown,  with  hands  to  my  face,  suifering  very  much  with 
my  tooth,  and  hurrying  to  the  dentist's  that  I  might  not 
be  too  late  for  school.  I  guess  I  must  have  looked  very 
ridiculous  to  William  Henry,  and  am  willing  to  confess 
that  I  gave  him  reasons  for  thinking  as  he  did,  though  I 
was  innocent  of  it  at  the  time. 

Mrs.  Brown — Well,  we  will  let  that  pass  this  time, 
but  what  I  wish  to  speak  most  particular  about,  is  this : 
Now,  my  children  are  good  children,  and  never  interfere 
in  the  least  with  that  which  doeii  not  belong  to  them ;  yet 
I  hear  a  continual  complaint  about  rubber  balls  being 
missed,  and  plates  of  apples  being  taken.  I  mean  the 
apples  and  not  the  plates  ;  for  I  consider  the  apples  alone, 
a  great  theft.  Now,  I  do  n't  want  a  street  quarrel  here, 
but  William  Henry  thinks  your  children  are  the  cause 
of  all  complaint. 

Mrs.  Green — Never  make  an  assertion,  Mrs.  Brown, 
unless  you  have  positive  proof  for  it. 

Mrs.  Brown — (Very  loud) — Positive   proof!     I   can 

give — 

Enter  Mrs.  Jones,  hurriedly. 

Mrs.  Jones — Good  morning,  Mrs.  Green.  Why,  Mrs. 
Brown,  I  was  just  going  to  call  upon  you  about  a  little 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  6> 

matter ;  but  finding  you  here,  it  will  save  me  the  trouble 
of  going  any  farther.  You  seem  to  have  some  business 
on  hand  already. 

Mrs.  Broavn — Yes,  I  am  a  business  person,  and  like 
to  settle  things  in  a  business  manner.  Give  in  your  ac- 
count, and  I  will  square  it  off. 

Mrs.  Jones — Indeed  I  will,  in  a  very  few  words.  I 
saw  your  second  son,  "NYilliam  Henry,  just  emptying  a 
plate  of  apples  that  were  on  the  table  in  my  front  room, 
and  hurry  off  so  fast  that  I  could  not  speak  to  him,  and  I 
thought  it  best  to  call  upon  you  about  the  matter,  and 
say  to  you  that  he  has  repeatedly  done  the  same  thing. 

Mrs.  Brown — Have  you  "positive  proof"  of  it,  as 
Mrs.  Green  says  ? 

Mrs.  Jones — I  think  I  have,  if  my  own  eyes  don't 
deceive  me. 

"William  Henry — Let's  go  home,  mother,  for  it's 
dinner  time.  (^Starting,  and  letting  an  apple  fall.) 

Mrs.  Green — "Wait  a  moment,  William ;  I  think  posi- 
Uve  proof  is  becoming  visible  proof.  Was  not  that  an 
apple  you  let  fall  just  now  ? 

"William  Henry — Y-e-s,  m-a-a-m. 

Mrs.  Green — (Laughing) — I  think  we  had  better  end 
this  very  unpleasant  difficulty  at  Mrs.  Jones'  expense  yet; 
for  I  remember  the  Golden  Rule,  "  Do  good  for  evil."  I 
propose  that  Mrs.  Brown's  little  boy  gives  each  of  us  an 
apple,  and  returns  the  rest  to  the  rightful  owner,  keeping 
none  for  himself;  which  may  afterwards  jog  his  memory 
should  he  ever  think  of  stealing  apples  again. 

Mrs.  Jones — I  consent. 

Howard — So  do  I. 

[Wri>LlAM  Henry  Kherpixhhj  fakes  the  apjilcs  from 
his  pockets,  and  d!j<frihidcs  ihcm.^ 

[  Curtain.'] 


62  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

GOOD   MAXIMS. 


CHARACTERS :— First,  a  Boy  or  Girl. 

Second,  a  Class,  to  represent  Audience. 


First — Pardon  a  friend  who  ventures  to  give 
A  few  simple  rules  to  assist  you  to  live. 

Second — Go  on !     Go  on  I 

First — "  Early  to  bed,  and  early  to  rise, 
Will  make  a  man  healthy  and  wealthy  and  wise." 

SECOND^^Good !     Good  !     That 's  true !       (Applaiise,] 

First — Better  be  late  than  never  to  come, 
But  better,  a  great  deal,  be  just  on  the  time.  ^ 

Second— Good !     Very  true  !    ^  J^n     ^  !  >'\  >  -,  /^ 

First — Better  be  poor,  and  have  a  good  name, 
Than  wicked,  and  wealthy,  and  blazoned  with  fame. 

Second — That 's  true !    ^  ( Triple  applause.^ 

First — Pray  tell  me,  dear  friends,  if  any  one  can, 
The  habits  and  ways  of  a  nice  gentleman  ? 

Second — Please  tell  us.  - 

First — This  is  the  rule,  and  it  never  fails, 
He  washes  and  brushes  and  pares  off  his  nails.  / 

Second — Good  !     Good  !     All  right !  {Ap>plause.] 

First — He  never  profanes  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
Is  gentle  and  loving,  and  true  to  his  word. 

Second — Good!     That's  true.    S)  U  fv  I    ,,, 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  63 

First — He  never  sips  rum,  or  shnffles  a  card, 
Or  poisons  his  breath  with  the  nauseous  weed. 

Second — Good  !     Good  !     All  right ! 

{^Triple  applause.) 

First — Is  never  unkind  to  parent  or  wife  ; 
But  faithful  and  true  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

Second— All  Wi !     That 's  all  true !         .,.,.-- 

[  Curtain.']  ' 

Note. — This  may  be  performed  with  good  effect  to  fill  up  the  time 
while  preparing  for  some  longer  exercise. 


THE    FLORAL    GUIDE. 

A  HUMOROUS   TABLEAU. 


There  is  nothing  nicer  for  an  Exhibition,  or  other  like 
occasion,  than  a  good  tableau  or  two.  The  following  has 
the  merit  of  simplicity  "^  least,  aud  can  be  made  very- 
amusing  by  proper  preparation. 

To  be  appreciated,  the  flower  or  vegetable  must  be 
announced  quite  plainly  by  the  manager,  and  acted  very 
slowly. 

Characters  : — lu  almost  every  company  of  young  peo- 
ple can  be  found  a  "Rose  "and  a  "Lily."  "Bouncing 
Bet"  can  be  represented  by  a  big,  hearty  Elizabeth,  or  a 
smaller  person  of  same  name,  jumping;  "Poppy"  by  a 
happy  papa,  holding  a  child  in  his  arms;  "Lady  Slip- 
pers "  by  showing  a  pair  of  those  useful  articles ;  "  Johnny 
Jump  ITp"  by  some  John  rising  snddcidy  from  his  chair; 
"Rocket  "by  a  little  girl  rocking  a  cradle;  "Morning 
Glory  "  ])y  a  sleef)y  boy,  without  a  coat  or  shoes,  with 
frowsy  hair,  rubbing  his  half-opened  eyes;  "Pink"  by  a 


64  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

foppish  young  man,  daintily  strutting,  with  beaver,  kids 
and  cane ;  "  Tulips  "  by  two  pair  of  lips  in  greeting,  and 
"  Sweet  Williams  "  by  two  boys  of  that  name. 

In  the  "  Vegetable  Department "  a  small  boy  is  poised 
on  his  head,  held  in  place  by  a  larger  one,  for  "  Turnip ; " 
another  small  boy  strike.'i  the  first  one  for  "  Beets  ;  "  while 
the  "  big  boy "  pushes  both  over,  for  "  Squash,"  and  a 
fourth  boy  takes  handkerchief  from  last  boy's  pocket  for 
"  Cabbage."  (Each  action  to  he  separately  named.)  Tom 
standing  with  eight  capital  O's  pinned  to  his  coat  is  "Tom- 
a4oes  ;  "  some  one  displaying  auburn  hair  is  "  Kadish  " 
(red-dish)  ;  and  a  boy  plucking  flower  from  girl's  hair  is 
"  Caul-i-flower  "  (cull-I-flower).  This  whole  display  will 
occupy  but  a  few  minutes,  and  if  desirable,  may  be  pro 
longed  by  anything  a  fertile  fancy  may  suggest. 

\_Ourtain.'^ 


THE  THREE  WISHES. 


CHAEACTERS :— Queen  of  the  Fairies. 

First  Fairy,  the  Fairy  of  Truth. 

Second  Fairy,  the  Fairy  of  Love. 

Third  Fairy,  the  Fairy  Youth. 

Other  Fairies. 

First  Girl. 

Second  Girl. 

Boy. 


Scene. — A  group  of  Fairies  with  hands  joined.    (They  sin| 

or  speak.) 

A  thousand  years  ago  we  met, 

Around  this  aged  tree. 
And  yet,  though  years  have  rolled  away, 

A  youthful  band  are  we. 
And  yet,  though  years  have  rolled  away, 

We  sing  our  songs  with  glee. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  66 

Queen — What  have  you  done  this  thousand  years  ? 
First  Fairy — I've  wiped  away  unnumbered  tears. 
Second  Fairy — I  've  quieted  unnumbered  fears. 
Third  Fairy — How  did  you  do  it?     I  could  not, 
Though  I  'ra  the  bright  fairy  of  Youth, 
I  could  not  cleanse  them  of  one  dark  blot. 
Tell  me,  O  fairy  of  Truth. 

First  Fairy — I  showed  them  the  Truth,  and  I  strove 
hard  to  win 
Their  hearts  from  the  dangerous  inroads  of  sin. 

Third  Fairy — And  now  tell  me  how,  O  fairy  of  Love, 
Men's  hearts  from  the  pleasures  of  earth  you  could  move? 
Second  Fairy — Whene'er  I  knew  their  hearts  to  rove, 
I  chained  them  to  the  Throne  Above; 
To  those  I  knew  that  knew  not  God, 
I  showed  their  Saviour's  pard'uing  blood. 
Queen — Come,  let  us  go  to  earth  again, 

Visit  together  the  children  of  men, 
See  which  will  win — 
Heaven  or  Sin, 
Truth  or  Beauty, 
Youth  or  Duty. 

Enf^  First  and  Second  Girl,  and  Boy.  (Tliey 
should  act  rjuf  if  they  did  not  see  the  fairies,  who  should 
all  face  them.  The  children  should  seat  themselves 
on  the  floor.) 

First  Girl — I  wonder  if  the  story  of  Cinderella  is  true. 
Boy — Why,  Sis,  you  never  see  fairies  now. 
Second  Gi  ul — No,  tve  do  n't,  but  maybe  other  people  do. 
Boy — W(!ll,  if  there  are  any,  I'd  like  to  see  one — -just 

once.  fQlTKEN  JKk/x  f/rfifly.) 

First  Girl — Look  at  that  Lily.    Didn't  it  nod  beauti- 
fiilly? 


66  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Second  Girl — So  strangely,  too. 

(Fairies  all  nod  to  each  other,  and  to  the  children.) 
Boy — They  all  seem  nodding — Oh,  so  strangely. 
First  Girl — It  almost  seems  as  if  fairies  were  here. 

(Fairies  all  step  forward.     Children  are  frightened.) 
Queen — We  are  here, 
Children  dear. 
What  will  you  have. 
For  we  will  give, 
What  you  may  ask  ? 
All  the  Fairies — A  pleasant  task. 
Queen — Be  not  afraid  to  sjieak. 

Second  Girl — Give  to  me  beauty.    Make  me  amiable. 
Give  me  wealth  and  a  long  life,  full  of  pleasure. 
Queen — These  we  grant  to  thee. 
First  Fairy — Yet  to  me  thy  wishes  are 
Vain  as  searches  for  the  star 
That  goes  from  sight,  in  darkest  night, 
A  bright  but — dying  meteor ! 
Boy — Give  me  strength,  and  with  it  energy,  a  strong 
mind  and  a  strong  body.     And  give  to  me,  too,  a  brave, 
open  heart.     Make  me  a  man. 

Queen — Th}^  wish  is  granted  thee. 
First  Fairy — Indeed,  right  joyfully, 

Thy  wish  is  granted  thee. 
And  yet  methinks  I  see 
Something  that  thou  dost  lack. 
Oh,  mayest  thou  not,  as  I  believe, 
Ever  look  mournful  back 
O'er  the  gifts  thou  didst  receive. 
First  Girl — Fairy,  I  don't  know  for  what  to  ask. 
Beauty  must   fade,  and    I  would  not  be  always  young. 
Give  me  Love — Love  to  God,  and  to  my  fellows  every- 
where. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  67 

QrEEN — With  thee,  daughter,  we  agree. 
All  things  added  unto  thee, 
From  the  God  who  loves,  shall  be. 
Second  Fairy — Lord,  I  thank  thee,  thou  hast  brought 
To  her  mind  this  holy  thought. 
Bless  it,  bless  it !    While  she  basks 
In  thy  Love-light,  what  she  asks. 
And  more,  be  given  unto  her. 
{Fairies  join  hands,  and  look  upward.) 
With  the  Love 
From  Thee  above. 
Give  them  Truth 
To  guide  their  youth ! 
Give  them  true  beauty  of  life  and  heart; 
Keep  them  afar  from  sin  apart ; 

Guide  them,  and  keep  them, 

Safe  from  harm  ; 
Helpless  lambkins. 
Under  Thine  arm. 
[  Curtain.'] 


TURN  ABOUT 'S  FAIR  PLAY. 


CHARACTERS :— Mr.  Faiebairn. 
Mrs.  Faikbairn. 

Kitty      *^*^'''  Children. 
Aunt  Bktsey,  a  maiden  Aunt. 


Scene  I. — Parlor.     Late  in  tlie  afternoon,  or  evonincr. 
Tom — (Spitefully  kicking  the  ottoman') — "  You  can  't  do 
this/'  and  "  you  mustn't  do  that,"  from  morning  to  night. 

Enter  Kitty. 

Kitty — (With  a  frown) — What  were  you  saying?     I 
hope  you  don't  feel  as  cross  as  I  do. 


68  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Tom — Cross  is  no  word  for  it.  It 's  so  terribly  warm. 
(Fanning  hhnself  with  his  hat.)  And  I  wanted  to  go  to  the 
river  to  cool  off.  And  papa  told  me  to  take  a  book  and 
sit  still.  Just  as  if  that  could  keep  me  cool.  But  what  is 
the  matter  with  you?  I  declare  you  don't  look  any  more 
amiable  than  IJ'eeL 

Kitty — Amiable  is  no  word  for  it.  Mamma  has  made 
me  dress  up  in  this  stiff,  clean  frock,  and  have  my  hair 
combed  again,  because  she  says  some  one  may  come.  I 
want  to  play  in  the  garden,  and  I  can't  when  I'm  all  fus- 
sed up  in  this  way,  with  ruffles,  and  bows,  and  sash.  I  do 
hate  company,  and  clothes,  and  manners,  don't  you? 

Tom — Yes,  I  do.  I  hate  beiug  ordered  round  everlast- 
ingly from  morning  till  night.  I'd  just  like  to  be  let 
alone.  Well,  if  we  can 't  have  a  game  of  romps,  let  us  go 
down  to  the  gate  and  see  other  children  have  a  nice  time. 

Enter  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fairbairn  and  sit  down.  The 
former  tips  back  in  a  chair  with  his  paper,  the  latter 
takes  up  her  embroidery.  Aunt  Betsey  comes  in  knit- 
ting, with  glasses  and  big  apron  on. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — (  Goes  to  the  door) — Come,  children, 
the  dew  is  falling.     You'll  take  cold. 

Enter  Tom  and  Kitty  pouting,  and  take  seats. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — I  believe  this  warm  weather  affects, 
the  health  of  the  children.  They  look  pale  and  languid. 
They  need  something  bracing.  I  shall  give  them  a  dose 
of  iron  mixture  in  the  morning. 

Kitty — Oh,  my!  {Making  up  a  face.)  I've  taken 
enough  now  to  make  a  cooking  stove. 

Tom — I  'd  feel  all  right  if  I  could  go  swimming  every 
night.  Aunt  Betsey  used  to  let  the  nephews  who  lived 
with  her  go. 

Mr.  Fairbairn — (Sharply) — Aunt  Betsey's  ideas  and 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  69 

uiiiie  ditier.     Children  are  not  brought  up  now  as  they 
were  in  her  day. 

Tom — I  wish  they  were.  Jolly  good  times  her  nephews 
used  to  have.  Papa,  she  has  told  me  about  it ;  and  how 
you  used  to  play  with  them. 

[Mr.  Fairbairn  lays  down  his  paper.     Mrs.  Fair- 
BAiRX  looks  up  interested.'] 

Kitty — Yes  !  And  her  nieces  used  to  have  good  times, 
too,  when  they  came  to  the  farm.  They  used  to  play 
everything  they  liked.  And  were  not  afraid  of  soiling 
their  clothes ;  for  they  did  not  have  to  be  rigged  up,  and 
plagued  with  company  every  day. 

Mr.  Fairbairn — What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

Tom — If  you  were  to  be  in  our  places  for  a  day,  you'd 
866  what  we  mean. 

Aunt  Betsey — (Smiling) — Wouldn't  it  be  worth  your 
while  to  try  the  experiment  ? 

(Mr.  Fairbairn  and  Mrs.  Fairbairn  laugh.) 

Aunt  Betsey — (Earnestly) — Why  not  put  yourselves 
in  their  places  for  a  day,  and  sec  how  you  like  it?  I 
think  you  would  understand  the  case  better  than  any  one 
could  describe  it ;  and,  perhaps,  do  both  yourselves  and 
the  children  a  lasting  service. 

Mr.  Fairbairn — (M^uch  amused) — Upon  my  word, 
that's  a  droll  idea  !     What  do  you  say  to  it,  mamma? 

Mils.  Fairbairn — I  am  willing  to  try  if  you  are,  just 
for  the  fun  of  the  thing  ;  but  I  don't  think  it  will  do  any 
good.  (  Children  clap  their  hands. ) 

Mr.  Fairbairn — TIow  do  you  propose  to  carry  out  this 
new  educational  frf)lic?  (Looking  a  bit  worried.) 

Aunt  Betsey — Merely  let  the  children  do  as  they  like 
for  one  day,  and  liavc  full  power  over  yon.  Let  them  plan 
your  dutifts  and  j)lc!i.siir('s,  order  your  food,  fix  your  houru 
and  j)uni*ih  or  reward    yon  us  tliey  think   |)ropor.     You 


70  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

must  promise  entire  obedieDce,  and  keep  the  agreement  till 
night. 

Tom  and  Kitty — Good !  good !     Oh,  wont  it  be  fun  ? 

Aunt  Betsey — As  to-morrow  is  a  holiday  for  us  all, 
let  us  celebrate  it  by  this  funny  experiment.  It  will 
amuse  us,  and  do  no  harm  at  any  rate. 

Mr.  Fairbairn — Very  well,  we  will.  Come,  mamma, 
let  us  promise,  and  see  what  these  rogues  will  do  for  us. 
Playing  father  and  mother  is  no  joke,  mind  you ;  but  you 
will  have  an  easier  time  of  it  than  we  do,  for  we  shall 
behave  ourselves. 

[  Curtain.'] 

Scene  II. — Next  day.  Morning.  Kitty  enters  the  room  with  a 
long  dress,  and  the  airs  of  a  grown-up  person,  looks  annoyed  as  she 
picks  up  books  and  balls,  saying,  "  What  careless  children  !  How 
I  wish  they  would  learn  to  be  orderly  !  "  Busies  herself  witli  Aunt 
Betsey  setting  the  breakfast  table.  Mrs.  Faibbairn  enters  with 
loose  hair,  and  light  cool  wrapper. 

Kitty — (Solemnly) — Careless,  untidy  girl.     Put  on  a 

clean  dress,  do  up  your  hair  properly,  and  then  practice 

this  new  music  until  breakfast. 

[Mrs.  Fairbairn  hesitates,  looks  as  if  she  would 
rather  not,  then  goes  out.~\ 

Enter  Tom,  with  long  coat,  neck-tie,  beaver  hat,  cane,  etc. 
Tom — Good  morning,  Mrs.  Fairbairn.  Good  morning, 
Betsey  Jane.  Why,  where 's  that  boy  ?  Has  n't  he  got 
up  yet?  {Calls  at  the  door:)  Get  up,  get  up!  (A  voice 
whines  out:)  "  Come, — you-let-me-alone.  It-is  n't-time-yet." 
Tom — (Solemnly) — No,  no  !  lazy-bones,  get  up.  (  Takes 
out  his  watch.)  There,  you  have  been  called  ;  and  now  if 
you  are  not  down  in  fifteen  minutes,  you  wont  have  any 
breakfast.     Not  a  morsel,  sir  ;  not  a  morsel. 

[Breakfast  bell  rings.  Mrs.  Fairbairn  coTnes  in 
hurriedly  in  a  stiff  calico,  unth  braided  hair,  and 
white  apron.] 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  71 

Kitty — Go  back  and  enter  the  room  properly.  Will 
you  never  learn  to  behave  like  a  lady  ? 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — {Looks  impatient,  but  obeys,  passes 
her  plate) — Some  biscuit,  and  trout,  if  you  please. 

Kitty — No  fish,  or  hot  bread  for  you,  my  dear.  Eat 
your  good  oat-meal  porridge  and  milk  ;  that  is  the  proper 
food  for  children. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — Can 't  I  have  some  coffee  ? 

Kitty — (Pouring  out  and  sipping  a  large  cup  of  her 
own) — Certainly  not.  /  never  was  allowed  coffee  when  a 
little  girl,  and  couldn't  think  of  giving  it  to  you. 

Mrs.  Fairbairx — Oh,  dear ! 

[Mrs.  Fairbairn  eats  porridge  with  a  xiyry  face.  ToM 
sits  in  an  arm-chair,  reads,  paper,  and  eats  heartity. 
Aunt  Betsey  looks  pleased.'] 

Enter  Mr.  Fairbairn. 

Tom — (Looks  at  watch) — What  did  I  tell  you,  sir?  You 
are  late  again,  sir.  No  breakfast,  sir,  I  'm  sorry,  but  this 
habit  mxist  be  broken  up.  Not  a  word  ;  it 's  your  own 
fault,  and  you  must  bear  the  penalty. 

Mr.  Faiubairn — Come,  now,  that's  hard  on  a  fellow! 
I'm  awful  hungry.  Can't  I  have  just  a  bite  of  some- 
thing? (Stepping  towards  table.) 
Tom — (Rises  and  stamps  his  foot) — I  said — not — a — 
morsel !  And  I  shall  keep  my  word.  Go  to  your  morn- 
ing duties,  and  let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you. 

[_They  rhe  from  the  table,  and  all  leave  the  room  but 
Mr.  Fairbairn.  He  siUs  biting  the  end  off  hi$ 
cigar,  which  ha  has  found,  after  much  rummaging 
in  his  pockets.  Aunt  Betsky  comes  in,  on  tip-toe, 
and  slips  a  biscuit  and  a  cookie  in  his  hand.] 
Aunt  Betsky — My  dear,  do  try  and  please  your  father. 
He  is  right.     But — I  can 't  bear  to  see  you  starve. 


72  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Mr.  Fairbairn — {MUh  mouth  Jull) — Betsey,  you  are 
an  augel.  {Eating  very  fast.)  Do  you  think  these  rogues 
will  keep  it  up  in  this  rigorous  style  all  day  ? 

AuMT  Betsey — I  trust  so ;  it  is  n't  a  bit  over-done. 
Hope  you  like  it.  (  Goes  out  laughing.) 

Enter  Kitty  anc?  Mrs.  Fairbairn. 

Kitty — Now,  put  on  your  hat,  and  draw  baby  up  and 
down  the  avenue  for  an  hour.  Don't  go  on  the  grass,  or 
you  will  wet  your  feet.  Do  n't  play  with  the  baby ;  I  want 
her  to  go  to  sleep.  Do  n't  talk  to  your  brother,  or  he  will 
neolect  his  work.  His  father  wants  him  to  rake  in  the 
yard. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — Must  I,  really?  It's  so  warm,  and 
I  want  to  sew.  Kitty,  you  are  a  hard-hearted  mamma,  to 
make  me  do  it. 

Kitty — I  have  to  do  it  every  morning,  and  you  do  n't 
let  me  off.  ( Getting  a  bottle.)  Here  is  your  iron  mix- 
ture, dear.     Now,  take  it,  like  a  good  girl. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — (Stepping  back) — I  wont! 

Kitty — Then  Aunty  will  hold  your  hands,  and  I  shall 
make  you. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — But  I  don't  like  it ;  I  don't  need  it. 

Kitty — Neither  do  I,  but  you  give  it  to  me  all  the 
same.  I'm  sure  you  need  strengthening  more  than  I  do ; 
you  have  so  many  "  trials."  (Kitty  looks  sly.) 

Enter  Aunt  Betsey. 

Aunt  Betsey — You'd  better  mind,  Carrie;  it  can't 
hurt  you,  and  you  know  you  promised  entire  obedience. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — But  I  never  thought  these  little 
chits  would  do  so  well.  (Drinking  it.)  Ugh,  how  disa- 
greeable it  is ! 

Kitty — When  you  come  iu,  sit  down,  and  hem  thes* 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  73 

towels  until  dinuer  time.  I  declare!  I  have  so  much 
to  do,  and  so  many  cares,  I  don't  know  which  way 
to  turn ! 

[Evening.— Tom  and  Kitty  dressed  to  go  out  riding.] 

Mr.  Fairbairx — Can 't  I  go  over  and  see  Mr.  Ham- 
mond? 

Tom— jSTo;  I  don't  like  Billy  Hammond,  so  I  don't 

wish  you  to  play  with  his  father.  (Smiling.) 

(Mr.  Fairbairn  gives  a  long,  low  whistle.) 

Mr.  Fairbairn — (Eespectfulli/)— Going  to  drive,  sir? 

Tom — Do  n't  ask  questions. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn — Can't  I  go? 

Kitty — No;  there  isn't  room. 

Mb.  Fairbairn — Why  not  have  the  carry-all,  and  let 
us  go,  too  ;  we  like  it  so  much.  (In  a  pleasing  tone.] 

Tom — (Impatiently) — We  can't  be  troubled  with  you. 
The  buggy  is  nicest,  and  lightest,  and  we  want  to  talk 
over  our  affairs.  You,  ray  son,  can  help  John  turn  the 
hay  in  the  lawn,  and  Caroline  can  amuse  the  baby,  or 
help  Jane  with  the  preserves.  Little  girls  should  be 
domestic. 

Mr.  Fairbairn — Oh!  thunder! 

Kitty — Aunt  Betsey  taught  you  that  speech,  you 
saucy  boy.  (Shaking  her  finger  at  him.)  Now,  Caroline, 
I  expect  company  this  evening,  but  I  don't  wish  you  to 
sit  up.  You  are  too  young,  and  late  hours  arc  bad  for 
your  eyes.  Go  to  bod  at  seven,  and  don't  forget  to  brush 
your  hair  and  teeth  well,  five  minutes  for  each  ;  cold-cream 
your  hands,  fold  your  ribbons,  hang  up  your  clothes,  put 
out  your  boots  to  be  cleaned,  and  put  in  tlic  mosquito- 
bars.    I  will  come  and  take  away  tlu'  light,  when  I  return. 

[Ktil  Mi{.  and  Mrs.  Fairbairn. 

Tom — Hasn't  it  been  a  funny  day? 


74  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

Kitty — Don't  thiuk  I  quite  like  it,  every  thing  is  so 
turned  around. 

Tom — Guess  they  didn't  like  it  very  well.  I  wonder 
if  our  joke  will  do  any  good. 

Aunt  Betsey  —  {Smiling  and  knitting,  xuith  happy 
jace) — Wait  and  see,  little  dears. 

[  Ourtain.l 


FRIGHTENED  AT  NOTHING. 


CHARACTERS :— Mrs.  Ketchem. 

LiLLiE,  an  Orphan,  her  Niece. 

^™^'{  School  Girls. 

Frank. 


Scene  I. — A  neat  room. 
Enter  Lucy  and  Nettie  talking. 

Nettie — Wont  that  be  grand  ?  But  do  you  think  we 
can  do  it? 

Lucy — I  guess  so.  How  lucky  it  is  for  us,  that  she 
believes  in  ghosts,  spirits,  and  such  things.  But  I  don't 
believe  she  ever  saw  one.     Wont  she  be  surprised  ? 

Nettie — Poor  Lillie !  I  feel  so  sorry  for  her ;  she  has 
to  stay  at  home  all  the  time ;  Mrs.  Ketchem  wont  let  her 
go  anywhere ;  but  I  thought,  perhaps  she  would  let  her 
go  to  our  picnic,  when  we  got  it  up  more  on  her  account 
than  any  thing  else. 

Lucy — Yes,  and  isn't  it  too  mean,  she  wont  let  her  go 
now?  But  I  am  determined  she  shall  go,  if  I  can  do  any 
thing  to  help  her. 

Nettie — But  do  you  suppose  Lillie  will  go,  if  we  can 
get  her  aunt's  consent  tlie  way  we  spoke  of? 

Lucy — By  frightening  her  into  consenting,  yoi'  mean  ? 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  75 

Yes,  I  think  she  will,  but  she  would  not  if  her  aunt  was 
not  so  unkind  to  her. 

Nettie — Hark!  I  hear  somebody  coming,  let's  hide 
and  see  who  it  is.  {They  hide  behind  a  table.) 

Enter  Frank. 

Frank — (Talking  to  himself) — I  declare  it's  too  bad,  I 
wish  her  aunt  was  in  Mexico.  I  wonder  if  I  can 't  con- 
trive  some  means  to  make  her  aunt  let  her  go — but — 

Nettie — You'll  have  to  get  ghosts  to  help  you. 

Frank — Ghosts!     (Looking  around.)     Who  is  that? 

Nettie — The  shadow  of  your  Aunt  Betsy  Jane. 

Frank — (Laughing ) — Why  she's  alive.  Seems  to  me 
that  voice  sounds  like  Nettie  Gay's. 

Nettie — (Coming  out) — So  it  is.  (To  Lucy.)  Stay 
there  a  minute.  (To  Frank.)  And  so  you  too,  are  won- 
dering how  you  can  get  Lillie  to  attend  our  picnic  ? 

Frank — Yes,  can 't  you  help  me  ? 

Lucy — (From  under  the  table) — You'll  have  to  get 
ghosts  to  help  you. 

Frank — (Starting) — Well  if  there  isn't  another!  I 
believe  the  house  is  haunted.     Who  are  you? 

Lucy — The  great  grandfather  of  your  dejiarted  Uncle 
George. 

Frank — (Looking  under  table) — Come  out  of  there, 
Lucy,  you  can 't  scare  me. 

Lucy — (  C(ym,ing  out) — But  perhaps  we  could  scare 
Mrs.  Ketch  era. 

Frank — What  do  you  mean  ? 

Lucy — Let's  go  out  in  the  yard,  and  we  will  tell  you 
what  a  nice  plan  we  have,  for  making  Mrs.  Kctchem  let 
Lillie  gu  with  us  to-morrow.  \_Exil. 

[  (Jurtain.'\ 


76  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

Scene  II. — Time  evening.    Mrs.  Ketchem  knitting.    Lillie  waali- 

ing  dishes. 

Mrs.  Ketchem — You  needn't  ask  nie  any  more.  1 
.say  you  shan't  go.  If  you  tease  me  any  more,  I  vum,  I 
will  box  your  ears. 

Lillie — But,  aunt,  I  haven't  been  anywhere  for  the 
longest  time,  and  I  will  be  real  good  if  you  will — 
Mrs.  Ketchem — What  did  I  tell  you  ? 

[Jumps  up,  dropping  her  work,  runs  toward  Lillie, 

unth  her  hand  raised.      Lillie  dodges  around  the 

table.     Suddenly  a  knock  at  the  door.l 

Mrs.  Ketchem — Goodness  gracious!     Who  is  that? 

It  can't  be  Hezekiah.    Lillie,  you  just  wait  'till  I  see  who 

this  is,  then  I  will  'tend  to  your  case,  young  lady.     You 

need  n't  think  you  are  going  to  get  off  so. 

(  Opens  door,  shrieks  and  starts  back.) 

Enter  Frank   dressed  as  ghost  of   Lillie's  mother. 
Lillie,  pretending  fright,  hides  behind  chair. 

Frank — {Solemnly) — Mrs.  Ketchem,  sister  of  my  dead 
husband.  Do  you  treat  my  child  as  I  commanded  you  ? 
Speak ! 

Mrs.  Ketchem — (^Gasping) — Yes.  Oh  go  away,  go 
away! 

Frank — Kemeraber  I  am  always  watching  you.  All 
your  actions  I  see ;  I  know  how  cruelly  you  have  treated 
my  child,  and  now  I  will  remain  here,  until  you  promise 
to  treat  her  better  than  you  have  done. 

Mrs.  Ketchem — ( Covering  her  head  with  her  apron) — 
Oh,  don't  stay,  I  haven't  done — 

Frank— Hush!  You  needn't  attempt  to  deceive  me, 
I  know  all.  Will  you  promise  never  more  to  abuse  my 
daughter  Lillie?  Will  you  solemnly  promi.se  to  treat  her 
hereafter  as  your  own  daughter 't 


STERLrNG   DIAT>OGrES  7? 

Mrs.  Ketchem — Yes,  I  will  promise  any  thing,  only 
^o  away,  go  away  ! 

Frank — I  will  go  soon,  and  will  not  appear  again, 
unless  I  find — 

Mrs.  Ketchem — Oh,  do  n't  come  again,  I  will — I  mean 
I  wont  box  her  ears  any  more.     Oh  ! 

Frank — If  you  don't  let  her  go  to  the  picnic  to-morrow, 
I  will  appear  again,  and  woe  be  to  you,  if  I  come  forth 
again.     Farewell.  lExit  sloivly. 

Mrs.  Ketchem — Has  she  gone  ?     Has  she  gone  sure  f 

Well ;  I  suppose  I  will  have  to  let  you  go  to  the  picnic, 

after  all.  (Knock.)  Hark!  isn't  somebody  knocking?    Oh, 

she  has  come  back,  she  has  come  back  !     JMercy,  mercy ! 

\_Run8  frantically  around  the  room,  while  Lillie  open* 

the  door,  ushering  in  Lucy,  Nettie  and  Frank.] 

Lillie — {Aside  to  them) — She  is  frightened  'most  to 
death.     It  is  too  bad. 

Nettie — It  isn't  either.     It's  just  what  she  deserves. 

Frank — It  worked  well,  didn't  it?  Didn't  I  make  a 
capital  ghost  ? 

Lillie — Yes  indeed,  but  be  careful ;  she  will  hear  us. 

Lucy — (To  Mrs.  Ketchem) — We  have  come  again,  to 
see  if  we  can 't  coax  you  to  let  Lillie  go  with  us  to-morrow. 
Please  let  her  go. 

Mrs.  Ketchem — I  will  this   time — but  next  time — 

Frank  —  (In  a  sepulchral  voice  ) — Remember  your 
promise.  {All  start — looking  around.) 

All — Who  was  that  ? 

Mrs.  Ketchem — (Nervoujily) — It  must  have  been  the 
door  creaking.  Yes,  Lillie  may  go.  Now  I  suppose  you 
are  satisfied. 

Frank — Oh,  yes,  I  can  answer  for  all.  But  I  must  go 
now.  Come  girls;  come,  Lillie;  I  have  something  to  tell 
you.  lExii  Lillie,  Lucy,  Nettie  and  Frank. 


78  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

Mrs.  Ketchem — Who  would  have  thought  it?  But 
I  always  did  believe  in  ghosts,  now  I  am  sure  of  it.  I 
believe  I  have  treated  poor  Lillic  rather  badly.  But  it  is 
all  owing  to  my  rheumatiz,  it  makes  me  so  cross,  but  I 
will  try  and  be  easier  on  her.  But  what  are  they  talking 
BO  long  about  ?  I  must  go  tell  them  to  finish  their  chat 
to-morrow.     It  is  getting  late.  [Exit. 

[  Curtain.'] 


"BOARDING  'ROUND." 

AN  EXPERIENCE  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 


CHARACTERS  :— Miss  Landen,  Teacher  of  a  country  Schooi. 
Tom,    )  Tj     -1 
Lily,  j  ^^P^^^' 
Mk.  Jenks. 
Mrs.  Jenks. 

Ike  '    1  *^^^'"  Sons. 
Sally,  their  Daughter. 


Scene  I. — A  country  school-house— teacher  seated  at  her  desk  ;  her 
head  leaning  wearily  on  her  hand. 

Miss  Landen — Ah,  well !  another  day's  labor  in  this 
dingy  old  school-room  is  ended,  and  now  comes  the  un- 
welcome question  :  Where  am  I  to  lay  my  weary  head 
to-night?  Where  shall  I  get  something  to  satisfy  the 
cravings  of  nature,  that  is  fit  to  eat  ?  How  do  these  peo- 
ple subsist  on  food  that  would  disgust  a  Camanche  In- 
dian !  I  have  been  compelled  to  live  on  baked  beans  and 
pork,  buckwheat  cakes  and  "  sop,"  until  I  abhor  and 
loathe  the  sight,  smell,  or  thought  of  them.  And,  being 
obliged  to  sleep  in  a  different  house  every  night,  and  be- 
ing obliged  to  "  do  the  agreeable,"  no  matter  how  weary 
or  preoccupied,  to  such  uncultivated,  vulgar  people,  who 
seem  to  think  they  are  doing  a  deed  of  charity,  for  which 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  T9 

I  must  be  duly  grateful,  in  giving  me  a  night's  lodging, 
and  a  seat  at  their  table.     I  declare,  it's  just  like  living 
on  the  town,  and  worse— for  at  the  poor-house,  one  has 
at  least  a  permanent  home.     True,  for  the  last  week  I 
have  had  a  pleasant  stopping-place  with  :Mrs.  Sanderson, 
the  only  woman  in  the  place  that  lives  like  a  civilized  Chris- 
tian.   But  before  going  there— at  ray  "  boarding-house"— 
there  was  the  alternative  of  sitting  up  all  night,  or  sleep- 
ing with  two  of  my  promising  pupils— whom  I  could 
hardly  endure  as  near  me  as  the  recitation  bench,  so  redo- 
lent were  they. of  grease  and  dirt.     If  there  were  a  place, 
within  two  or  three  miles,  where  I  could  buy  provisions, 
I'd  rent  a  room  and  set  up  house-keeping  myself.     I'd 
have,  perhaps,  twenty-five  cents  a  week  left. 

Enter  Tom,  Lily,  cmd  Ike,  pupils. 

Tom — Say,  school  marm !  aint  ye  goin'  to  our  house 
to-night?  Mother  told  me  to  ask  ye  if  it  wasn't 'bout 
time  for  ye  to  come  ag'in. 

Miss  Landen — (Aside) — Nothing  there  but  the  ever- 
/asting  pork  and  beans,  and  beds  alive  with  bugs.  (Aloud.) 
No,  Tom,  I  guess  not  to-night,  some  other  time  I'll  go 
with  you. 

Lily — Will  you  go  with  me  again  to-night,  Miss  Lan- 
den?  You  know  mamma  is  always  glad  to  have  you 
come. 

Miss  Landen — It  is  a  great  temptation.  I  should 
like  so  much  to  go.  (Aside.)  Oh,  if  I  could  stop  with 
Mrs.  Sanderson  all  the  time,  I  should  be  content.  (Aloud.) 
But  not  to-night,  dear;  I  have  already  stayed  witli  your 
mother  far  more  than  her  allotted  portion  of  "boarding 
tlie  teacher,"  and  I  ran  not  further  trespass  on  her  hospi- 
tality.    (A.-^ide.)   Whore  «/)«// I  go? 

Ike  Je>'K.s — (Marching  up  to  the  desk,  with  hand*  in 


80  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

his  pockets) — Mother  says  she 's  got  to  have  you  to  board 
gome  time,  and  she  wants  you  to  be  sure  aud  come  to- 
night, 'cause  father's  been  to  the  "Burg"  to-day,  aud 
she'd  niyther  you'd  come  when  she's  got  tea  aud  sugar 
in  the  house. 

Miss  Landen — (Aside) — As  well  there  as  anywhere. 
(Aloud.)  Yes,  I'll  go  with  you!  How  far  do  your 
parents  reside  from  here? 

Ike — How  fur  do  they  whatf 

Miss  Landen — Do  you  live  far  from  here  ? 

Ike — No,  mawm,  only  a  little  Avays.  Just  over  the 
hill — not  more'n  a  mile  aud  a  half. 

Miss  Landen — A  mile  and  a  half,  through  this  mud 
and  splash  !  Well,  if  I  don't  need  the  grace  of  patience, 
I  don't  know  who  does.  That  man  wrote  nothing  but 
truth,  when  he  said,  "  Job  mite  have  been  the  pashuntest 
man  that  ever  lived — on  biles — but  he  never  taut  skule 
and  horded  round." 

[Miss  Landen  |;wfe  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  locks  the 
school-room,  and  follows  Ike.] 

[  Curtain.'] 

Scene  II. — Room  in  a  "  back  woods  "  country  farm-house.  A  table 
spread  with  supper — a  dish  of  meat,  potatoes,  hot  cakes  ;  around 
■which  are  seated,  ^IR.  and  ]\lRS.  Jenks,  Sally  (in  a  flaminnr  yel- 
low "polly-nay,"  and  red  calico  skirt),  Jake  and  Ike,  and  Miss 
Landen. 

Mr.  Jenks — Just  fall  to,  and  help  yerself,  school  mawm ; 
we  don't  have  much  manners  here. 

Sally — Now,  par,  do  wait  on  the  skule  miss.  Change 
the  plates,  do. 

Mr.  Jenks — Wal,  ef  I  must,  I'll  hev  to  ;  but  it's  nufT 
site  better  for  every  one  to  look  out  for  his  own  bread  and 
dinner.  (Fills  a  plate  with  a  piece  of  black-looking  meat,  a 
potato,  and  a  huge  buckwheat  cake.) 


STERLING  dtai.ogup:s  81 

Mrs.  Jenks — Dew  yew  take  your  tea  with  trimmin's, 
Miss  Lantern  f 

Miss  Laxden — If  you  please.     Landen  is  my  name. 

Mrs.  Jenks — Oh,  it  is!     Well,  I  didn't  understand. 
Tom  and  Ike,  do  behave  yerselves ! 

Tom — Give  me  a  later,  then,  I  say  I  want  a  later. 

{At  the  top  of  his  voice.) 

Sally — j\[ar,  Ike's  a  dippin'  into  my  apple-sass.     I 
wish  you'd  lick  him,  he  acts  awful. 

Ike — I  liaint  teched  it !  She's  tellin'  an  awful  whopper ! 

Mrs.  Jenks — Go  'way  from  the  table.  I'll  learn  you 
to  eat  so,  afore  the  skule  mawm. 

{^Seizes  Ike  by  his  collar,  and  drags  him  from  the  room, 
while  he  kicks  and  hotvk.'] 

Mrs.  Jenks — (Returns,  and  seats  herself  again  at  the 
table) — How  on  airth  do  you  ever  manage  forty  or  fifty 
sich  young-uns?  I  can't  git  along  with  two,  and  I'm 
allers  powerful  glad  to  git  'em  off  to  skule  in  the  mornin', 
and  out  of  the  way.  Do  try  and  make  out  yer  supper, 
miss — goodness  to  gracious !  I  do  believe  Dan  Jenks  has 
given  you  the  griddle  greaser !  (Looking  on  Miss  liAN- 
Tyr.y'fi  plfde.)  He  has,  I  swan!  Now,  Sally,  that's  too 
bad — some  of  your  work,  lettin'  it  drop  in. 

Sally — I  jist  laid  it  on  the  side  of  the  meat-dish,  and 
it  slid  iu,  I  s'pose. 

Mr.  Jenks — I'm  done;  aint  you.  Jack?  Come  along 
and  help  mo  fodder  the  cattle. 

[Exit  Mr.  Jenks  and  Jack — all  leave  the  table. 

Mrs.  Jenks — Now,  fly  'round,  Sally,  and  h(>lp  nic  do 
up  the  work,  and  then  git  the  .school  mawm  to  show  you 
liow  to  ('ro»h<n/. 

\ Exit  Mi'.H.  Jenkh  nr.d  Sat,LY,  carrying  dishi:^. 

Mish  Landen — TFow  fhull   I  vwr  ondurc  \\w?.(:'.  horrid 

poople  until  morning?    IIow  can  I  ever  endure  this  mode 


82  STIRLING   DIALOGUES 

of  existence  until  the  close  of  the  term  ?  I  should  like  ray 
vocatiou — the  teacher's  calling  is  a  high  and  lionorable 
one,  even  in  a  back-woods  place  like  this — if  I  could  have 
some  place  to  call  home.  But  this  wretched  system  of 
boarding  around.  Ough  !  I  wish  the  man  who  invented 
it  had  to  live  in  this  way  for  a  ten  years'  term. 

Enter  Sally.    Seats  herself  near  Miss  Landen. 

Sally — Ef  you  '11  show  me  that  'ere  croshay  stitch,  1 
wish  yew  'd  do  it  purty  soon,  for  we  "  go  to  roost "  airly 
here. 

[Miss  Landen  takes  the  needle  and  cotton,  and  endear 
vers  to  teach  her,  while  the  curtain  falls  J 

[  Curtain.'] 


ALICE'S    PARTY. 


CHARACTEES  :— Alice,  large  Girl. 
Grace,  ~j 
Katie,    >  little  Girls. 

TOTTIE,  J 

Will,  an  Interloper. 


Alice — Children,  we  are  having  a  nice  time  this  after- 
noon, and  just  for  a  change,  suppose  we  all  sit  down  and 
have  a  little  talk,  and  each  one  tell  what  she  would  like 
best  to  have,  either  for  a  new  plaything,  fur  pleasure  or 
comfort.     Just  think  a  little  first.  (All  musing.) 

Grace — (  Vcrij  modestly  speahs) — I  think  if  I  had  m^ 
wish, 
I  'd  have  a  nice  boy-dolly. 
Dressed  up  in  splendid  soldier  style; 
I  tell  you,  wouldn't  he  look  jolly, 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  83 

With  suit  of  blue  and  buttons  bright, 

Upon  his  head  a  cap  and  feather, 

A  shiny  guu — and  on  his  back 

A  knapsack  stutled,  and  made  of  leather.' 

Katie — Tliat  tvould be  nice.     Then  /would  like 
A  lady-doll,  dressed  to  my  fancy, 
With  top-knot,  jockey  feather,  veil. 
And  "  riding  goat,"  like  Cousin  Nancy. 
And  then  some  day,  when  skies  were  bright, 
And  your  gay  soldier  boy  off  duty. 
They,  too,  could  have  a  splendid  drive, 
To  show  off  speed,  and  style  and  beauty, 

Alice — (Interrupting  gently) — Now,  girls,  one  thing 
you  have  forgot. 
To  carry  out  your  plans,  quite  needful, 
A  something  I  have  got  to  lend. 
And  you  may  use,  if  only  heedful. 
A  nice  new  dolly-(;haise  for  two, 
And  you  must  be  the  pony  party  ; 
I  pray  you  take  it  when  you  choose. 
And  enjoy  it  with  my  wishes  hearty. 

Grace  and  Katie — {In  concert) — We  thank  you  dear, 
'iu  just  like  you 
To  be  so  thoughtful,  loving  too, 
While  we  are  heedless,  gay  and  jolly. 
While  planning  for  each  one's  new  dolly. 

Enter  Wii.i>. 

Kath-: — Now  here  comes  Will.     I  expect  he's  heard 
All  we  have  naid — yes,  every  word. 
Now  tell  us  what  you  've  got  to  say 
About  such  trifles  as  girls'  play. 


84  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Will — (^Putting  on  an  air  of  great  importance) — Well — 
/  say  : 

Away  with  all  your  dolly  talk. 

Give  me  a  little  pile  of  money, 

And  I  will  show  you  something  smart 

And  worth  your  care — alive  and  funny. 

I'd  buy  a  pair  of  fine  grey  goats, 

I  'd  have  them  harnessed  strong  and  gaily, 

I  'd  have  a  carriage,  too,  to  match, 

And  then,  you  see,  I  'd  drive  them  daily. 

I  'd  take  some  lady  by  my  side, 

But  7iot  a  dressed  up,  lifeless  dolly, 

But  a  real,  gay,  young  chatterbox, 

Just  like  myself,  so  cute  and  jolly. 

Now  what  do  you  think  ? 

Girls — (In  concert) — We   think   you're  pretty  cute, 
young  sir. 
And  bound  to  make  a  noise  and  stir ; 
But  when  those  splendid  goats  arrive, 
Remember — we  '11  be  ready  for  a  drive. 

Will — (Leaving  the  room) — They  had  better  wait  till 
they  are  invited.     Can 't  take  so  many. 

Girls — {In  concert) — What  a  great  man !  A  little 
selfish  after  all. 

Alice — Well,  here's  little  Tottie,  she  has  said  nothing 
only  with  her  eyes.  Now,  darling,  what  would  you  like 
to  have  ? 

Tottie — Me?  I  want — I  guess  I  want 
A  pussy  tat,  a  soldier,  too, 
A.  little  box — a  little  doll. 

I  want  most  everything,  I  do.  (Aside,  softly.) 

But  I  want  to  ride  with  them  goatees. 


STEliLI^a    DIALOGUES  8t' 

All — About  the  goatees,  darling,  we  can't  say,  but  all 
the  rest  you  shall  certainly  have. 

Alice — A  little  more  time  yet,  as  the  meeting  folks  say. 
N^ow  for  Katie. 

Katie — (Hesitating) — I  have  been    thinking  a  good 
deal. 
But  like  dear  Tottie,  'mong  so  many, 
I  want  most  everything  that's  nice, 
(I  'd  want  them  nice,  or  else  not  any). 
I  want  a  dress  like  Josie  Fox, 
I  want  a  muff,  a  hat  and  feather, 
I  want  some  ribbons  and  some  lace, 
And  a  waterproof  for  rainy  weather. 
And  then  I  want — I  want — I  want — 
Oh,  dear!  I  can't  say  what — I'm  fearing 
You  think  I  am  a  foolish  child, 
And  all  my  talk  not  worth  the  hearing. 

Alice — Never  mind,  we  are  not  perfect  yet. 

Grace — The  clock  says  we  must  go  pretty  soon  ;  but 
Alice,  dear,  has  not  told  us  a  single  wish  yet. 

Alice — Never  mind  now,  darlings.  I  have  taken  so 
much  comfort  in  hearing  you  talk  that  all  my  selfish 
thoughts  have  fled  away,  so  we  will  all  be  saying,  "  Good 
afternoon."  (^Exchange  of  parting  salutations.) 

[  Curtain.'] 


86  STEKLING    DIALOGUES 

WHO   IS  THE  POET? 


CHARACTEKS :— Matilda  Evans. 

William  Evans,  her  Brother. 


Scene. — Matilda  sits  at  a  table  writing. 
Enter  William  with  papers  and  letters. 

Matilda — Oh,  you  're  a  good  brother.  Now  I  will  see 
if  my  poem  is  published. 

lOpetis  a  paper  and  looks  it  through.      William 
reads  anotJier  paj)er.~\ 

Matilda — No,  it  isn't  here,  and  what  is  more,  I  don't 
believe  they  intend  to  publish  it.  Well,  it  is  really  like 
casting  pearls  before  swine,  to  send  anything  good  to  these 
common  editors.  There  is  not  one  in  twenty  of  them  that 
knows  a  good  poem  when  he  sees  it.  If  I  were  not  so 
modest,  and  unassuming,  I  would  send  it  to  some  of  those 
periodicals  whose  editors  do  appreciate  a  good  article. 
Ah !  here  are  letters ;  I  wonder  who  they  are  from. 
(  Opens  one  and  reads.  Throws  it  down  angrily  exclaiming :) 
Impudence  !  I  '11  never  send  them  a  poem  again  so  long 
as  I  live. 

William — What  is  the  matter  now,  Matilda  ? 

Matilda — Matter  enough,  I  should  think.  Just  hear 
this  letter  from  that  impudent  editor.  {Reads:) 

Miss  Flora  Der  orest : 

That's  my  nom  deplume,  you  know. 

Dear  Miss  :^ 

The  enclosed  poem  which  you  modestly  offer  us  for  the  trifling  sum 
of  ten  dollars,  we  are  obliged  to  decline.  Your  talent  for  writing 
poetry  is,  we  admit,  very  uncommon,  but  as  there  are  already  so 
many  poets  in  the  literary  field,  we  would  advise  you  to  try  and  see 
if  your  capacity  is  not  equally  good  for  washing  dishes,  and  darn- 
ing stockings.  Yours  with  great  regard, 

E.  T.  Typeman. 


HTERLIXG   DIALOGUES  8? 

Matilda — Now,  William,  isn't  that  the  most  pro vok. 
iugly  .saucy  letter  you  ever  saw  ? 

William — 1  dou't  see  anything  particularly  saucy 
about  it.  He  merely  refused  your  poem,  and  gave  yuu 
his  professional  advice. 

Matilda — Professional  advice,  indeed !  Nobody  asked 
his  advice.  I'll  show  him  that  there's  more  than  one 
editor  in  the  world,  and  more  papers  than  his  little  con- 
temptible sheet.  (Seats  herself  at  the  table.) 

William — What  do  you  propose  to  do,  Matilda  ? 

Matilda — I  am  going  to  send  this  poem  to  an  editor 
who  does  know  something.    I  think  he  will  appreciate  it. 

William — Shall  I  tell  you  how  to  prevent  the  pos- 
sibility of  receiving  from  him  a  letter  similar  to  this  you 
have  just  received  from  Mr.  Typeman  ? 

Matilda — Yes,  if  you  know.     What  shall  I  do  ? 

AViLLiAM — Keep  your  poem  at  home,  and  follow  the 
advice  contained  in  this  letter. 

Matilda — Tliat  is  about  as  much  sympathy  as  I  ex- 
pected from  you.  I  do  n't  believe  I  am  appreciated  any- 
where. (Rises  and  walks.)  There,  I  have  spent  a  whole 
week  upon  a  poem  which  an  insignificant  editor  refuses 
with  scorn ;  and  even  here,  at  home,  among  my  nearest 
and  dearest  friends,  where  I  should  meet  with  the  sweetest 
sympathy,  I  am  treated  with  coldness  and  indifference. 

"  Oh,  for  some  heart  to  meet  my  own 
In  sympathy  and  love." 

William — Stop  quoting  bad  poetry.  Let  us  talk  plain 
prose.  You  say  you  are  not  appreciated  here.  Suppose 
you  set  the  example,  and  commence  by  appreciating  your- 
self. Your  j)owers  are  not  properly  estimated,  I'll  admit, 
but  you  yourself  have  a-s  false  views  of  them  as  any  one. 

Matilda — I  don't  think  I  understand  you. 

William- "Let  me  make   it   more  j)luiu   then.     You 


88  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

have  imagined  you  could  write  poetry,  and  sit  here  day 
ai'ter  day,  spending  your  time  in  scribbling  sentimental 
songs  -which  do  not  contain  one  word  of  sound  common 
sense.  The  jin(/le,  I'll  admit,  is  well  enough  ;  the  meter 
is  not  bad,  but  what  does  the  whole  of  it  amount  to? 
Simply  highly  embroidered  nonsense.  This  is  why  editors 
reject  your  poems.  They  have  no  heart  in  them.  They 
don't  mean  anything. 

Matilda — Look  at  my  verses  about  moonlight ;  I  am 
sure  they  mean  something. 

William — Yes,  but  let  us  hear  a  poem  about  daylight. 
Get  up  some  morning  and  write  a  poem  about  sunrise,  and 
perhaps  it  will  be  worth  reading.  Ah,  Matilda,  if  you 
could  only  write  such  poems  as  Susie  does,  they  would  be 
appreciated  by  the  folks  at  home,  to  say  the  least. 

Matilda — Susie?  Why,  William,  what  do  you  mean? 
I  don't  think  she  ever  wrote  two  lines  of  poetry  in  her 
life. 

William — Nor  did  she,  as  you  write  poetry  ;  and  yet 
her  daily  life  is  one  unceasing,  and  beautiful  poem.  No 
wandering,  unwilling  feet,  or  discordant  syllables  are  in 
her  poems,  but  a  glad  out-gushing  of  pure  and  loving  in- 
spiration is  hers. 

Matilda — I  know  that  Susie  is  a  dear,  good  girl,  but  I 
never  thought  her  poetical. 

William — That  is  because  you  do  not  understand  what 
true  poetry  is.  You  fancy  that  you  are  a  great  admirer 
of  Nature ;  but  who  ever  saw  you  grafting  roses,  or  train- 
ing a  vine?  When  were  you  able  to  name  our  common 
forest  trees  by  looking  at  their  leaves  ;  or  distinguish  and 
name  our  garden  birds  by  hearing  them  sing  ?  Susie  does 
this.  Who  plants  and  tends  the  flowers,  making  our  little 
yard  a  perfect  paradise  of  bloom  and  fragrance?  Who 
knows  where   the   sweetest   wild  blossoms  are  hid,  and 


BTERLTXG   DIALOGUES  8& 

brings  them  to  cheer  the  weary  invalid?  "Who  makes 
moss  baskets  for  the  windows,  and  picture  frames  for  the 
parlor?  Who  binds  up  the  broken  limbs  of  lambs  and 
chickens,  and  tenderly  nurses  them  ?  Who  reads  for  papa, 
sings  for  the  baby,  and  resigns  her  own  pleasure  always 
for  that  of  every  other  one?  Who  watches  all  of  us  when 
we  are  sick,  with  unceasing  care  ?  Whose  feet  are  never 
weary  while  there  is  anything  to  be  done  for  others? 
Whose  hands  are  never  idle  so  long  as  they  can  minister 
to  the  wants  of  a  loved  one  ?  Is  not  Susie's  unselfish  life 
a  beautiful  poem,  Matilda  ?  And  how  much  of  such  a 
poem  are  you  living  ? 

Matilda — I  can  see  it  all,  William,  and  it  is  very 
strange  that  I  never  thought  of  it  before. 

William — You  are  not  an  isolated  exception,  Matilda. 
There  are  thousands  of  sweet,  unselfish  lives,  whose  sacri- 
fices for  others  are  accepted  by  them  without  even  know- 
ing or  thinking  that  they  are  sacrifices,  because  made  so 
freely  and  lovingly. 

Matilda — 'Patting  aivay  paper  and  pens) — Brother 
William,  you  have  opened  my  eyes  to  see  myself  in  a 
true  light,  I  believe,  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  How  idle  and 
useless  my  life  has  been.  I  will  scribble  no  more  versos, 
l)ut  go  to  work  and  see  if  I  can 't  do  something  ivorih  doing. 
If  I  can   not  write  poetry,  I  can  at  least  help  mother. 

Wili-Iam — Tliat  sounds  like  something  sensi])le.  When 
you  have  learned  to  do  anything  worth  writing  about, 
perhaps  you  will  be  able  to  write  something  worth  read- 
ing. At  any  rate,  you  may  depend  upon  one  thivig.  The 
person  who  is  not  good  for  anything  else,  need  not  try  to 
become  a  poet.     That  is  my  opinion.  {^Exit, 

[  Curtain.'} 


SrO  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

I  GUESS  I'M  THE  MAN". 


CHARACTERS:— Mr.  IL\ll,  reformed  Drinker. 

Mk.  yMITII,    I 
MK.  J  OSES,     I 

Mil.  James,   I 
Mr.  Rice,     J 


Callers. 


Scene. — Mr.  Hall  in  Lis  office  alone,  sitting  at  the  table  writing. 

Mr.  Hall — (  Taking  up  letter,  reading  aloud  )  — "  Mv 
dear  sister,  I  liastea  to  iuf'orm  you  that  I  shall  not  annoy 
you  any  more  by  hard  drink.  I  signed  the  pledge  over 
six  months  ago,  and  have  kept  it  to  the  very  letter." 

Enter  Mr.  Smith. 

Mr.  Smith — (^Interrupting  reading,  with  a  bow) — Sir, 
can  you  inform  me  where  Mr.  Hall  lives? 

Mr.  Hall — There  are  several  families  of  Halls  living 
around  here.     "Which  one  do  you  wish  to  find  ? 

Mr.  Smith — I  don't  know  his  Christian  name,  but  he 
is  the  father  of  two  beautiful  girls. 

Mr.  Hall — Really,  sir,  I  can  not  tell  which  one  you 
wish  to  find,  as  there  are  two  families  of  Halls,  and  each 
has  two  daughters. 

Mr.  Smith — Just  give  me  the  addresses  of  both,  as  I 
am  bound  to  get  acquainted  with  them  ;  but  I  don't  think 
much  of  the  old  man. 

Enter  Mr.  Jones. 

Mr.  Jones — Good  evening.  I  call  to  see  if  you  could 
inform  me  about  a  family  by  the  name  of  Hall,  and  where 
he  resides. 

Mr.  Hall — Are  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Hall  ? 

Mr.  Jones — No,  only  by  hearsay. 

Mr.  Hall — Well,  my  friend,  what  have  you  heard  ? 

Mk.  Jones — I  heard,  and  quite  straight,  too,  that  there 


STERLIXG    DIALOGUES  91 

wasn't  a  harder  drinker  in  town,  and  that  he  would  die  a 
genuine  sot ;  but,  then,  he  has  two  pretty  girls. 

Mr.  Hall — Hem  I  hem  !  I  guess  that  Mr.  Hall  lias 
drank  more  or  less ;  but,  how  about  the  girls  ? 

Enter  Mr.  James. 

Mr.  James — Good  evening,  sir.  I  hojie  I  'in  not  in- 
truding. 

Mr.  Hall — Xot  at  all,  sir  ;  what  can  I  do  for  you 
this  evening? 

Mr.  James — Do  you  know  anything  about  a  family 
by  the  name  of  Hall  ? 

Mr.  Hall — I'm  slightly  acquainted  with  two  families 
by  that  name. 

Mr.  James — The  Mr.  Hall  I  wish  to  find,  I  hear  has 
two  girls  just  splendid,  handsome  and  witty,  but  they 
don't  take  much  after  the  old  man. 

Mr.  Hall — What  about  the  old  man  ? 

Mr.  James — I  hear  he  is  drunk  most  of  the  time;  and 
that  he  is  a  sharp,  shrewd  old  man,  and  never  was  so 
drunk  but  that  he  could  keep  his  money. 

Enter  Mr.  Rice. 

Mr.  Rice — (Addressinf/  Mr.  Hall) — Good  evening, 
sir.  I  beg  pardon  for  intruding,  but  I  '11  detain  you  only 
a  moment. 

Mr.  Hall — My  friend,  what  can  I  do  for  you? 

Mr.  Rice — I  just  stepped  in  to  see  if  you  could  inform 
me  about  a  family  by  the  name  of  Hall  ? 

Mr.  Hall — I  think  I  can. 

Mr.  Rick — Please  give  me  his  address.  (Taking  out 
his  diary.)     I  believe  he  has  two  daughters. 

Mr.  Hall — Yes;  but  they  are  quite  shy. 

Mr.  Rice — I  'II  bet  I  can  get  acquainted  ;  yes,  and  T  'II 
hftt  I'll  marry  one  of  them. 


92  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Mr.  Hall — You  speak  as  though  you  should  marry 
one,  whether  or  no. 

Mr.  Kice — I  tell  you  I  am  sure  I  shall,  as  the  old  man 
is  rich.  Yes,  rich  as  a  Jew ;  but  he  has  been  represented 
to  me  as  being  a  close-fisted  man,  and  not  scrupulously 
honest  in  all  his  transactions  in  business,  besides  being 
drunk  two-thirds  of  the  time.  Come,  give  me  bis  address. 
Mr.  Hall — I  do  not  think  any  of  his  friends  here  will 
ibe  likely  to  get  the  old  man's  property — 

[^Interrupted   by   all.     Some  exclaim — What's    that! 
What 's  that  you  say  ?     Others — Why !  why  !  ] 
Mr.  Halx-^ — For  this  very  reason,  I  guess,  I  'm  the  maiil 

[  Curtam.'] 


MISCHIEF. 
DRAMATIC   CHARADE. 


CHARACTERS :— Grandpa. 


r^llV^'   ]  Grandchildren. 


Miss. 
Scene  I. — Willie  discovered  whittling  an  arrow. 

Enter  Kate,  with  school-books,  crying. 
Willie — Why  !  what 's  the  matter  with  my  sister  Kate  ? 

I  have  not  seen  her  cry  of  late. 
Kate — (  Throwing  down  her  books) — These  hateful  books, 
there 's  not  a  leaf. 
But  what's  one  constant  source  of  grief; 
I  try  to  learn  my  lessons  every  day. 
But  the  thoughts  of   sport   have  drawn  my  mind 

away : 
From  all  our  childish  plays  I  gain  some  bliss. 
But  when  my  lessons  come,  I  'm  sure  to  miss.. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  9^ 

Willie— "Why,  Kate,  that's  nothing— I've  been  at  home 
all  day, 
And  what  is  more,  T  mean  to  keep  away 
From  books  and  school,  till  I  can  plainly  see 
Some  pleasure  there  in  store  for  me ; 
Then  dry  your  tears ;  for  eyes  so  red  as  this, 
Are  not  becoming  to  my  little  miss. 

Kate — Don't  call  me  miss;  I  hate  the  word, 
For  which  reproofs  I've  often  heard  ; 
This  very  day,  while  in  the  Grammar  class, 
My  turn  came  round,  I  had  to  let  it  pass; 
"What!"  growled  the  teacher,  with  a  hideous  frown, 
"You  miss  again,  and  can  not  parse  a  noun?" 

And  then  she  thundered,  with  her  usual  sneers, 
"  Unless  you  study  more,  you'll  miss  your  ears." 

Willie — Well,  cheer  up,  Kate  ;  no  word  I  speak 
Shall  start  a  tear  across  your  cheek ; 
But  grandpa  comes,  and  we  must  give  report 
If  we  have  spent  our  time  in  school  or  sport, 
Unless  by  some  fair  chance  he  fails  to  ask 
If  we  have  learned  or  not  our  daily  task. 

Enter  Grandpa. 

Grandpa — How  now,  what  do  you  there,  my  boy? 

What  gives  your  fingers  their  employ? 
Willie — I'm  making,  sir,  an  arrow  for  the  bow 

That  Uncle  Joseph  gave  me  long  ago. 
Grandpa — And  think  you  that,  like  William  Tell, 

You'll  shoot  your  arrow  ])rave  and  well? 
WiLLii: — I  do  not  know  how  well  he  shot. 
Kate — Oh,  tell  his  story,  will  yon  not? 

Do,  Grandpa,  t<'ll  us;  take  this  chair, 

And  I  will  ])la(  e  another  there, 


94  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

That  you  may  rest  your  aching  toe, 
And  tell  his  story.     Do  n't  say  no. 

[Grandpa  sits  doivn:  Willie  and  Kate  corns 
each  side.l 

Grandpa — Tell  was  a  brave  man  over  the  sea, 
Who  wished  to  make  all  his  countrymen  free. 
The  usurper  caught  him,  but  spared  him  his  breath, 
On  conditions  almost  as  grievous  as  death. 
Tell  had  a  son,  a  small  lad  like  yon, 
Who  was,  like  his  father,  brave,  loyal  and  true ; 
On  the  head  of  this  boy  a  small  apple  was  placed, 
And  two  hundred  yai'ds  the  old  tyrant  paced 
To  measure  the  distance  from  father  to  son. 
And  show  by  what  skill  his  life  might  be  won  ; 
And  he  told  the  brave  man  that  his  life  he  would 

give. 
If  he  shot  off  the  apple  and  let  the  boy  live. 
Then  the  archer  took  up  his  trusty  cross-bow, 
Selected  an  arrow  as  straight  as  a  row, 
Adjusted  the  string,  and  quickly  it  sped. 
Well-aimed,  at  the  apple  upon  the  boy's  head. 

Willie — Did  it  miss? 

Kate — Did  it  miss? 

Willie  and  Kate — Oh  !  say,  did  it  miss  ? 

Grandpa — What  nonsense,  my  children,  what  nonsense 
is  this  ? 
Think  you  the  fond  father  would  ever  aim 
An  arrow  that  might  his  only  child  maim  ? 
No,  Tell  knew  his  skill,  and  the  apple  was  found 
In  two  parts  divided ;  the  boy  was  still  sound. 
Now,  children,  the  lesson — remember  this, 
Be  sure  you  are  right,  and  never  miss. 

Kate — (Aside  to  Wti-lie) — Does  grandpa  know  what 
made  me  cry  ? 


STERLING    DIAI.OGUEfe  95 

Orandpa — Now,  youDgsters,  go  and  play,  and  I 
Will  try  to  sleep,  for  should  I  miss  my  nap. 
My  gouty  toe  might  meet  with  some  mishap. 
Willie — Come  on,  then,  Kate,  and  I  will  try  my  skill 
with  this.  (Holding  up  his  arrow.) 

Kate — {To  audience) — But  no  one  would  be  hurt  if  he 
should  miss. 
[Willie  and  Kate  go  out.    Grandpa  leans  hack  in 
his  chair  to  sleep. 2 

[  Curtain.'] 

Chief. 
Scene  II. — Same  as  before.     Grandpa  feigning  sleep. 

Enter  Willie. 

Willie — (Looks  at  Grandpa,  runs  to  door,  and  calls :) — 
Oh,  Kate,  come  here ;  here's  such  a  chance  for  fun; 
Don't  mope  along  so  slow,  but  run,  Kate,  run. 
Kate — {Outdde) — Why,  what's  the  matter?  why  such 
haste  ? 

Enter  Kate. 

Willie — Keep  still,  now,  Kate,  I  've  not  a  breath  to  waste '. 
Grandpa's  asleep,  let's  play  him  off  a  joke, 
As  good  as  e'er  his  gouty  slumbers  woke. 

Kate — What,  Will,  make  fun  of  grandpa?  Sure  you  jest, 
You  can  not,  must  not,  thus  disturb  his  rest. 

Willie — lie's  slept  enough.     Now,  do  not  silly  be; 
Do  as  I  bid,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me. 
I'll  dress  up  like  an  Indian,  tall  and  straight; 
And  when  he  wakens  up,  I'll  lie  in  wait. 
And  frighten  him  till  half  his  ."^cnses  go. 
And  gdut  foffvcr  Iravcs  his  aching  toe. 

Kate — llal   lial   now,  Willie,  you're  so  dumpy  small, 
.You  can  not  be  an  Indian  straight  and  tall. 


96  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

Willie — Well,  well ;  tbea,  Kale,  I  '11  staud  up  in  a  cnaii, 
And  say  I  'm  Chief.     'T  will  give  him  such  a  scare, 
He'll  tremble  well  from  sole  to  crown, 
And  think  me  a  chief,  and  not  a  clown. 
Now,  Kate,  stand  there  and  keep  the  flies  away, 
Nor  let  one  settle  on  a  hair  of  gray ; 
Let  not  his  nose  become  a  place  of  rest, 
He'd  surely  waken  up  and  spoil  my  jest. 

[  Goes  out. 

Kate — Well,  well  I'll  please  him  ;  but  it's  my  belief, 
When  grandpa  wakes  he'll  whip  the  little  chief. 

(^Walks  on  tiptoe,  and  brushes  away  the  flies.') 

\_Enter  Willie  with  feathers  in  his  hat,  bringing  a  red 
shawl  or  blanket,  a  hatchet,  bow  and  arrow,  and  a 
pair  of  moccasins.  Puts  the  moccasins  down  on  the 
floor  by  a  chair,  gets  up  in  the  chair,  and  fixes  the 
blanket  round  him  so  that  it  falls  to  the  floor,  and 
shoivs  the  moccasins  sticking  out.  Holds  the  hatchet 
in  his  right  hand,  and  bow  and  arrow  in  his  leff] 

Willie — (Hands  Kate  a  string) — Now,  Katy,  draw  this 
string  across  his  nose, 
He  '11  think  it  is  a  poison-spider's  toes, 
And  wake  affrighted.     Then  I  '11  play  my  part, 
And  he  shall  fear  the  chief  or  feel  his  dart. 
Kate — You  will  not  hurt  him,  Willie,  dear  ? 
Willie — No,  no ;  keep  silent — never  fear ; 
And  when  he  wakes  with  such  a  fright, 
My  Kate  must  needs  keep  out  of  sight. 

[Kate  dratvs  the  string  across  Grandpa's  face;  he 
wakes,  pretending  to  be  frightened;  Willie 
whoops,  and  Kate  dodges  behind  Grandpa's 
chair.'] 

Willie — (In  a  gruff  voice) — When  evil  thoughts  disturb 
the  mind. 
The  old  man  leaves  his  sleep  behinjl, 


STEELING   DIALOGUES  ffi 

And  wakes  to  find  his  room  possessed 

By  one  who  makes  no  mild  request. 

Old  man,  I  am  of  many  braves 

The  chief,  the  pale  face  idly  craves 

Our  pity.     Stationed  all  around 

Are  scores  of  men,  who,  at  a  sound 

From  me,  would  quick  the  old  man  take, 

And  burn  him  at  the  nearest  stake. 

But  give  me  now  a  bag  of  gold, 

And  I  will  from  your  quiet  fold 

My  braves  withdraw,  nor  need  you  fear 

That  they  shall  e'er  again  come  near. 
Grandpa — The  old  man  totters  near  the  grave, 

And  has  no  gold  to  give  the  brave. 
Willie — My  kin  have  gone  beyond  the  flood, 

The  pale  face  steel  hath  drunk  their  blood ; 

Give  me  thy  children,  they  '11  atone. 

For  many  wrongs  the  whites  have  done. 
Grandpa — Nay,  take  my  life,  but  kindly  spare 

My  children's  children  ;  they'd  no  share 

In  all  thy  wrongs;  grant  this  relief, 

And  I  will  bless  thee,  haughty  chief 
WiLLiK — Your  life,  old  man,  is  nothing  worth. 

Too  long  hath  been  thy  stay  on  earth ; 

But,  quickly  bring  to  me  the  youth, 

And  I  will  give  my  word  of  truth 

That  they  shall  live.     Else  I  will  burn 

Thy  mansion,  give  my  dogs  a  turn 

At  those  fair  children,  and  let  thee  live  « 

To  endure  the  pangs  that  I  can  give. 
fjRANDPA — Since  naught  can  toucli  thy  heart  of  siflne, 

I  yield  by  brutal  force  o'ercome ; 

I  go  to  bring  thorn — God  forgive, 

If  I  have  erred  to  let  them  live.  [Exit. 


98  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Kate — Oh,  Will,  how  dared  you  scare  him  so  ? 

He  trembles — he  can  hardly  go. 
Willie — (^Getting   down,    and   taking   off  his   shawl) — 

I  thought  he'd  sooner  find  me  out, 

What  could  the  man  have  been  about  ? 

He  '11  soon  come  back,  what  shall  I  say  ? 

I  wish  the  chief  could  run  away. 
Kate — Nay,  nay,  brave  chief;  I  bid  you  stand, 

A  coward  chief  would  flee  the  land  ; 

You  've  played  the  chief  to  scare  your  friends, 

I  '11  be  the  chief  to  make  amends. 

[  Curtain.'] 

Mischief. 
Scene  III.— Kate  and  Willie,  as  before. 

Eyiter  Grandpa. 

Grandpa — (Severely)  —  Is  this  the  chieftain  bold  and 
brave. 

Who  kindly  vouched  my  life  to  save, 

If  I  would  give  my  children  dear 

To  live  in  wigwams,  slay  the  deer. 

Their  faces  paint,  their  ears  bedeck 

With  gewgaws,  hung  around  their  neck, 

Or  at  their  belt,  the  scalps  they  take 

From  slumbering  foemeu  ere  they  wake? 
Kate — {Advancing  half-xvay,  and  kneeling) — Grandpa,  for- 
give the  naughty  jest 

With  which  we  broke  your  sweetest  rest ; 

The  chieftain  then  so  bold  and  brave, 

Is  willing  now  to  be  your  slave. 

So  pardon  us  and  take  for  fun, 

What  was  in  purest  miscAte/ done. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  W 

Grandpa — Well,  well,  fair  pleader,  since  you  own 
Your  foolish  pranks,  I'll  not  disown 
My  children  ;  but  will  take  your  hands 
In  mine,  and  give  you  my  commands. 

(  Takes  them  by  the  hands.) 
My  children,  you  must  never  let 
Your  love  of  muchief  so  forget 
What's  due  to  age,  that  you  would  willing  be 
To  hang  your  grandpa  to  the  nearest  tree ; 
But  if  you  should,  you  'd  better  take  a  peep, 
And  be  quite  sure  that  he  is  sound  asleep. 

Willie — Ah,  grandpa,  but  I  thought  you  smiled 
When  giving  up  your  children  wild. 

Kate — And  I  was  sure  you  really  knew 

Our  Will's  wild  prank,  and  helped  him  through. 

Grandpa  —  (To  audience)  —  Our  charade's  ended,  but 
I'd  like  to  add, 
That  mischievous  children  are  not  always  bad. 
Their  faults  lie  on  the  surface ;  at  the  core 
Arc  many  virtues,  needing  oft  no  more 
Than  some  kind  hand  to  lead  them  on  the  road, — 
To  show  them  what  is  evil,  what  is  good ; 
To  quietly  chide  when  pleasure  lures  too  long, 
To  make  them  love  the  right  and  shun  the  wrong. 

Kate — And  yet  you  'd  best,  like  grandpa,  when  you  sleep, 
For  fear  of  mischief  one  eye  open  keep. 

[  Curtain.^ 


ii^ 


100    *^'^  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

UNCLE  DEAL'S   LECTURE. 


CHARACTERS  :— Uncle  Deal,  a  crotchety  olfl  Bachelor. 
Mrs.  Deal,  his  Brother's  Wife. 
SCROGGINS,  Mrs.  Deal's  Brotlier. 
Eddie,  Mrs.  Deal's  little  Sou. 
Miss  Drewery,  a  Caller. 


Scene. — Uncle   Deal  and  his  sister-in-law  alone  in  the  tatter's 
.  l)arlor.     A.^ocli. 

^'     / 
Enter  ScitOGGlNS,  who,  in  ottempting  to  bow,  falls  over  a 

chair  ;  a  bottle  rolls  from  his  pocket,  which  he  scrambles 

after  and  replaces. 

Mrs.  Deal — {With  an  annoyed  laugh) — He's  drunk! 

I  say,  it's  too  much  to  stand. 

Uncle  Deal — (Approaching  him) — Allow  me  to  escort 

you  to   the  kitchen ;  you  are  at  present  hardly  fit  for 

parlor  furniture. 

[ScROGGiNS  is  led  off  the  stage,  looking  very  foolish, 

and  making  comic  boivs  to  the  audience.'] 

liC-enter  Uncle  Deal. 

[M^s.  Deal — (In  a  rather  loud  and  excited  tone) — Now, 
isnt  that  ridiculous.  *  Scroggins  might  be  ashamed  of 
himself.  There  is  not  a  finer  man  in  these  parts,  if  I  am 
his  sist^,  than  Billy  Scroggins  when  he's  at  himself,  nor  a 
worse  one  when  the  liquor 's  in  and  the  wit 's  out. 

•■Uncle  Deal— H-m.  That  is  usually  the  case,  but  I 
thought  your  brother  had  reformed,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing. 

lMrs^Deal— So  he  had.  He  hadn't  drunk  a  drop  for 
three  years,  until  Smggins  started  that  abominable  tavern, 
right  on  his  road  from  the  shop.  There  was  no  manner 
of  call  for  a  public-house  there ;  that  is  admitted  by  alL 
This  thing  of  intemperance,  it  is  awful,  I  say. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES 


101 


VJJncle  Deal— Its  ravages  are  certainly  fearful.  It  is 
not  on  the  decrease^  though,  when  a  late  calculation 
shows,  in  one  of  ouf  most  enlightened,  refined  and  pat- 
riotic^ cities,  nearly  as  many  groggeries  as  lamp-posts. 

kMs^  Deal— Well,  the  men  seem  to  have  grown  per- 
fectly indifferent  on  the  subject,  and  what  can  women  do.  1 
I  will  head  a  raid  of  women  against  it  any  time.  I've 
read  of  such  things  being  done,  women  breaking  into 
whiskey  shops,  rolling  the  barrels  into  the  street,  staving 
in  the  heads,  and  letting  the  whiskey  run  down  the  gutter. 

^  Uncle  Deal — That  way  of  proceeding  doesn't  seem 
to  strike  me  as  being  very  ladv-like.     But —     (J.  knock.) 

Enter  Miss  Drewery. 

vMrs.  Deal — How  do  you  do,  my  dear  Nellie?  This  is 
my  husband's  brother.  (Turning  to  Uncle  Deal,  and 
they  exchange  greetings.)  Do  sit  down,  Nellie,  and  take  off 
your  things.  I  am  sure  you  have  come  to  spend  the  day 
with  me.  jifl^UT^'^H 

vMiMS  DREWERY-f-Nothing  would  give  me  more  plea- 
sure if  I  had  the  time,  but  you  know-i^  are  preparing  a 
little  surprise  for  brother  ,AVLill  when  he  comes  hume,  in 
the  shape  of  a  little  "  sociable  "  at  si.ster_Aunie's,  and  I 
just  ('ailed  to  get  the  recipe  for  your  currant  wine.  We 
all  think  it  delicious. 

^Mrh.  Deal — Well,  sit  down  and  talk  to  Uncle  Deal, 
while  I  hunt  up  the  recipe.  If-lhfiLe  is  one  thing  I  do 
brag  oti  a  little,  Niillie,  it  is  my  currant  wine.  Oh  !  here 
comes  Eddie,  he Jl  entertain  you  while  I'm  gone. 

Enter  Eddfe,  a  Utile  fellow  of  about  seven  years. 

i,^,  [Exit  Mrs.  Deal. 

^^fisH  DuEWTUtY^-r'oriie  and  kiss  me,  Eddie,  wont  youl 
^-that's  a  dear  lillli;  lullow. 


Z02  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

Eddie— No,  I  shaa'L  though. 

( Clambers  on  Uncle  Deal's  kneels 
*Uncle  Deal — Now,  Eddie,  that's  very  impolite  of  you. 
You  should  certaiuly  kiss  the  ladies  when^ey  ask  you. 
^ Eddie— Would  you  ?  (^They  both  laugh.) 

Re-enter  ^^Irs.Deal,  bearing  a  tray  full  of  wine-glasses, 
filled   with   wine,   which   she  hands   around.      Miss 
Drewery  accepts,  Uncle  Deal  refuses. 
QS.188  Drewery — How  excellent. 

[Sipping  it.     Eddie  slyly  helping  himself  to  udnefrom 

the  glasses  on  the  sideboard.'] 

vMrs.  Deal — (Producing  the  recipe,  and  handing  it  to 

her  friend) — You  will  see,  there  is  a  pint  of  brandy  added 

to  every  two  gallons  of  the  wine.     Do  have  some  more, 

Nellie. 

^iss  Drewery — Oh,  no,  thank  you ;  indeed,  I  must  go. 
Good  morning,  Mrs.  Deal.     Good  morning,  sir.     (-j^i,  a 

lExitS^^s  Drewery  with  a  hoio. 
[Eddie  begins  to  sing  and  caper  around  the  room  in  a 
most  extraordinary  manner,  \o  the  consternation  of 
his  mamma,  and  amusement  of  Uncle  Deal,  who 
both  try  in  vain  to  pacify  him.'] 
Mrs.  Deal — {Perceiving  the  empty  glasses  on  the  side- 
board)— Goodness,   my   boy !     Did    you   drink   all   that 
wine? 

Uncle  Deal — Yes,  I  believe  he  did.     (  Taking  Eddie 

in  his  arms,  who  must  now  feign  sickness.)      He'll  be  quiet 

enough  now  for  awhile,  I  think.         {Lays  him  on  a  sofa.) 

Mrs.  Deal — (Alarmed) — Oh,  how  pale  he  is  !     I  am 

afraid  he  will  die.     Do  run  for  the  doctor. 

Uncle  Deal — I  don't  think  it's  so  bad  as  that.  The 
stimulating  effect  of  the  liquor  is  dying  away,  and  a 
violent  reaction  is  taking  place  in  the  child's  system- 
Presently  lie   will   fall   into  a  heavy  sleep ;  I   think  it  is 


"  rT 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  lOJi 

already  creeping  over  him.     There,  I  was  right;  he  ia 
going  to  sleep. 

^Irs.  Deal  draws  a  deep  breath,  and  resumes  her 
sewing.  ■■^Uncle  Deal  relapses  into  a  meditative 
silence.']>^     a-fc^ 

Mrs.  Deal — (After  a  jyause) — What  in  the  world  are 
you  thinking  of,  Uncle  Deal,  you  look  so  solemn  ? 

Uncle  Deal — I  am  studying  out  the  skeleton  af  a 
"  Temperance  Lecture,"  taking  imaginary  notes  of  the 
same. 

Mrs.  Deal — Oh,  that  would  be  excellent.  I  wish  you 
would  deliver  it  here  in  this  town,  and  Swiggins  would  be 
one  of  the  audience. 

Unx'LE  Deal — I  have  before  me  just  the  audience  to 
whom  I  wish  to  address  myself;  though,  would  it  were 
more  numerous,  if'  it  were  of  the  same  character.  In 
the  unmeasured  terms  in  which  you  have  denounced 
poor  Swiggins,  justice  compels  me  to  denounce  the  domes- 
tic users  of  alcoholic  stimulants.    I  condemn  them  in  toto. 

Mrs.  Deal — (  With  some  loarmth) — Why,  Uncle  Deal, 
there  isn't  much  alcohol  in  a  little  plain  wine.  Come, 
now. 

Uncle  Deal — Enough  to  make  it  intoxicating,  as  we 
have  just  witnessed.  I  insist  upon  it,  if  there  were  no 
refined  drunkards,  there  would  not  be  so  many  unrefined 
ones.  "Total  Abstinence"  is  the  only  true  temperance 
motto.  If  I  possessed  the  power,  I  would  not  only  banish 
it  from  every  pul)lic-house,  but  I  would  first  dispense  with 
ita  use  in  every  private  house.  Come,  Mrs.  Deal,  you 
were  a  very  strong  temperance  woman  this  morning. 

Mrs.  Deal — What,  then,  would  we  do  for  brandy  in 
our  mince-pies,  and  wine  in  our  sauces? 

Uncle  Deal — It  strikes  me  that  highly  seasoned  meat 
mixed  with  alcoholic  drugs,  and  baked  in  greasy  crusts, 


?04  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

must  be  a  most  trying  thing  on  the  digestive  organs, 
especially  those  of  children,  thus  laying  the  foundation 
for  a  diseased  and  depraved  appetite,  which  is  the  primary 
cause  of  so  much  drunkenness.  If  mince-pies  were  laid 
under  ban,  I  believe  it  would  be  a  blessing  to  the  rising 
generation.  It  is  astonishing  that,  while  quackery  and 
humbuggery  of  every  sort  count  their  dupes  by  thousands, 
the  sin.ple  laws  of  physical  health  are  so  doubtingly  and 
scoffingly  received  by  the  great  mass  of  enlightened 
Christians.  While  our  youth  are  instructed  in  all  the  lore 
of  the  ancient  classics,  they  are  suffered  to  remain  in  the 
grossest  ignorance  of  that  most  wonderful  organism,  the 
human  frame. 

[  Curtain.'] 


THE  FAIRY  QUEEN'S  DECISION. 


CHAKACTERS  :— Hubert,  a  rich  Boy, 
Paul,  a  jjoor  Boy. 
Nannie,  Paul's  Sister. 
Faiky  Queen. 


Scene. — A  sitting-room.    Hubert  discovered. 

Hubert — {Soliloquizing) — I  hope  that  young  scamp  I 
met  in  the  woods  this  afternoon  will  bring  me  the  nest  of 
young  robins  from  the  old  apple-tree !  Let  me  see,  I  pro- 
mised him  two  dollars,  these  four  silver  fifty-cent  pieces,  for 
them — there  will  be  three  for  himself,  and  one  to  dry  the 
tears  of  little  Nannie,  who  has  threatened  to  cry  her  blue 
eyes  out  if  any  harm  comes  to  them.  One  would  think  a 
bare-footed  girl  had  rather  have  money  than  birds,  and, 
as  for  Paul,  what  a  nice  Sunday  hat  he  can  buy ! 


STERLING  DIALOGUES  lOft 

lEnter  Paul,  in  ragged  clothes  mid  torri  hat,  a  bird's 
nest  in  his  hand.^ 

Paul — Here's  the  bird's  nest — the  young  ones  are  ugly 
little  things  now ;  but  by  and  by  they  can  be  taught  to 
sing.  I  got  them  without  Nannie  knowing  of  it.  How 
she  will  cry ! 

Hubert — Ah,  my  brave  boy !  you  will  make  a  man 
of  yourself.     I  see  you  have  grit. 

Paul — It  will  take  grit  to  get  Nannie  into  a  good 
humor. 

Hubert — Pshaw!  pshaw!  she'll  get  over  it.  (He 
places  the  nest  in  his  hat,  on  the  table.)  Here,  take  your 
money ;  the  ugly  little  things  will  be  worth  something 
handsome  when  they  can  sing ! 

(Paul  rattles  the  money  from  hand  to  hand.) 

Enter  Nannie. 

Nannie — O  Paul,  you  wicked,  wicked  boy !  Where 
are  the  young  birds  you  stole  from  their  mother  ?  Where 
is  the  nest  ?     I  say,  where  is  the  nest  ? 

Paul — O  Nannie,  don't  be  a  dunce!  I'm  a  boy, 
and  don't  have  any  of  your  s(}ueanii.sh  notions.  Look 
here,  now,  you  may  iiave  this  great  piece  of  money  all  for 
your  own;  but  go  away,  Hubert  don't  want  to  see  you 
crying. 

Nannie — I  don't  care  who  sees  me  crying ;  I  want  the 
birds.  O  Huljort,  you  ought  to  hear  liow  the  poor  old 
birds  are  wailing,  and  calling  Cor  their  dear  children. 

Hubert — But  they  wont  come,  for  all  their  culling; 
run  home  iind  buy  a  jjicture-book  with  your  money. 

Nannii; — I  say,  give  nic  the  birds.  J  watched  the  old 
ones  build  their  ne.st ;  I  saw  the  sweet  blue  eggs  belbro 
they  were  hatched ;  I  saw  the  old  ones  feed  those  poor 


I06  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

little  helpless  baby-birds.     Once  you  were  a  baby,  and 
your  mother  loved  you ;  do  you  remember  that? 

Hubert  —  Remember  being  a  baby!  I  think  not. 
How  funny  that  would  be.  If  I  could  remember  that^ 
I  'd  try  to  forget  it.     A  baby  !     How  very  funny. 

Paul — O  Nannie,  come  away  !  the  old  birds  wont  cry 
to-morrow.     We  will  take  our  money  and  go  home ! 

Nannie — I  wish  I  could  see  the  Fairy  Queen,  I  'd  tell 
her  all  about  this.  My  story-book  says  she  loves  every- 
thing in  the  woods,  and  everybody  that  is  good ! 

Paul — You  greeny,  there  is  no  Fairy  Queen;  you 
have  never  seen  her ! 

Nannie — No,  I  never  saw  her ;  but  maybe  I  will  see 
her  some  day.  I  believe  in  her.  I  know  she  can  do  any 
thing  she  wants  to,  and  will  punish  wicked  boys  like  you  ! 

Paul — Nannie,  don't  get  yourself  laughed  at;  there 
is  no  Fairy  Queen  ;  it 's  all  a  story ! 

{Enter  Fairy  Queen,  a  little  girl,  with  gauzy  spangled 
dress,  a  crown  on  her  head,  one  star  over  her  fore- 
head, and  scepter  in  her  hand.'} 

Fairy  Queen — Yes,  there  is  a  Fairy  Queen, 

And  here  she  is  now  to  be  seen  ! 

[Both  boys  start  back  amazed.  Hubert,  recovering 
himself,  tells  Paul,  in  a  loud  whisper,  that  it  is  only 
his  sister,  who  is  dressed  for  a  fancy  party.  As  she 
extends  her  scepter,  Nannie  devoutly  kisses  it.'] 

Nannie— Good  Queen  of  the  Fairies,  you  who  love 
every  bird,  and  insect,  and  flower,  must  dearly  love  young 

robins. 

Fairy  Queen — Indeed  I  do  ;  no  sweeter  bird, 

Even  in  bright  Fairyland  is  heard. 

Nannie — These  boys  have  taken  a  nest  of  young  ones 
from  the  old  apple-tree.    I  have  come  to  return  it.    Dear 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  lO? 

Fairy  Queen,  make  these  bad,  bad  boys  do  better,  and 

please  put  it  into  the  hearts  of  these  robins  to  love  me 

just  a  little  if  I  am  ragged  and  barefooted  ! 

Fairy  Queen — Yes,  I  swear  by  my  scejjter  and  by  my  star, 
The}'  will  love  you,  oh,  darling  child  that  you  are  ! 
Paul,  throw  down  your  money,  hie  to  your  home. 
Or  you  '11  change  to  an  owl,  through  darkness  to  roam ! 
Hubert,  give  to  sweet  Nannie  the  birds  in  your  hat, 
Or  to-morrow  you  '11  wake,  not  a  boy,  but  a  bat. 

Hubert — {Hands  the  birds  over  to  Nannie,  and  sayu, 
tiside,  to  Paul) — Oh,  my,  what  airs  her  majesty  puts  on ! 

Nannie — {Bending  over  the  nest) — O  Fairy  Queen, 
you  are  so  good !     What  can  I  do  for  you  ? 

Fairy  Queen — Love  me,  Nannie,  only  love  me. 
And  the  angels  bright  above  me. 
That  are  better  still  than  I, 
Smiling  downward  from  the  sky. 
Will  guard  you,  and,  at  death,  will  come 
To  take  you  to  their  own  bright  home. 

[  Curtain.'] 


THE  SECOND  PRIZE. 


CHARACTERS:— Graham  Allcorn,  a  Tailor. 
Jknny  Ai.lcoun,  his  Wife. 


Scene  I. — A  tailor  shop.    Gkah.\m  Allcokn  seated  tailor-wise  on 

a  table,  sewing. 

Graham — "  Stitch,  stitch,  stitch,  in  poverty,  hunger^ 
and  dirt."  That's  the  way  it  is  at  this  particular  moment, 
and  in  this  particular  place.  I  stitch  all  day  long  and 
part  of  the  night,  and  I  think  Thomas  Hood  must  have 
had  ray  humble  self  before  his  mind's  eye  when  he  penned 
that  exquisite   poem,   "  The  Song  of  the  Shirt."      Now 


108  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

when  a  fellow  works  as  hard  as  I  do,  it  stands  to  reason 
that  he  ought  to  make  a  decent  livhig — in  fact  he  ought 
to  live  in  pretty  good  style  ;  but  we  don't  live  in  good  style. 
My  wife  has  only  common  clothes,  and  my  children's  toes 
are  beginning  to  peep  out  of  their  shoes.  Well,  there 's 
one  thing  I'm  sure  of — if  we  aren't  rich,  we  are  comfort- 
able. If  we  haven't  plenty  of  money,  we  have  content- 
ment, and  the  Bible  says,  contentment  is  far  better  than 
wealth.  I  guess  the  Bible  is  right.  Jenny  and  I  are  as 
happy  a  couple  as  can  be  found  anywhere  in  the  State, 
and  the  children  seem  to  be  happy  too.  Poor  Benny  is 
in  the  dumps,  because  he  lost  his  place  in  the  class  yester- 
day, but  that's  nothing ;  he'll  get  over  that.  It  will  make 
him  study  harder,  and  if  so,  he  will  get  up  again.  This 
coat  is  nearly  finished.  A  few  stitches  more  and  I  'm  off 
for  to-night.  {Hums  a  tune  a  few  minutes.) 

Now  there 's  that  ticket  in  the  Excelsior  Gift  Enterprise. 
If  I  should  only  draw  the  first,  or  the  second,  or  the  third, 
or  the  fourth,  or  even  the  fifth  prize,  would  n't  I  be  a  rich 
man  ?  Jenny  laughs  at  the  idea  of  my  drawing  anything. 
She  says  all  Gift  Enterprises  are  humbugs,  but  I  think  she  'a 
wrong.  Jenny  is  generally  right  though  ;  but  I  'm  in- 
clined to  believe  that  she's  wrong  this  time.  I  think  the 
"  Excelsior  "  is  all  right.  Its  promises  are  fair,  and  I  think 
it  is  able  to  perform  all  it  promises. 

Enter  Jenny,  her  dress  tucked  up  as  if  she  had  been 
working. 

Graham — Halloo,  Jenny,  coming  to  see  how  I  am 
getting  along,  are  you?  Nearly  bed-time,  isn't  it? 

Jenny — Yes,  it's  nine  o'clock,  and  you  must  be  tired. 
You  've  been  working  since  daylight  this  morning. 

Graham — Yes,  Jenny,  I  am  sort  of  tired,  but  you  know 
we  must  work  or  starve. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  109 

Jenny — Oh,  I  guess  there's  no  danger  of  starving. 
We  have  enough  to  eat  and  enough  to  wear,  and  that  is 
as  much  as  we  need.  There's  no  use  in  having  piles  of 
gold  ;  it  only  ruakes  one  feel  unhappy. 

Graham — Yes,  Jenny,  that's  what  I  was  just  thinking 
about.  I  was  thinking  that  the  Bible  told  us  riches 
didn't  make  jjcople  happy,  and  that  contentment  was 
rather  to  be  chosen  than  great  riches,  and  the  Bible  is 
right,  isn't  it  Jenny? 

Jenny — Yes,  Graham,  it  says,  "  Be  content  with  such 
things  as  you  have,"  and  we  ought  to  be.  If  we  have 
gold  we  ought  to  be  content,  and  if  we  have  no  gold  we 
ought  to  be  content.  Now,  there  are  the  Joneses  up  the 
road ;  you  know  they  've  got  a  grand  house  and  a  grand 
farm,  but  the  people  say  they  do  not  get  along  well. 
They  are  quarreling  continually,  and  the  boys  spend  the 
most  of  their  time  in  drinking  and  gambling.  But,  Gra- 
ham, I  had  almost  forgotten.  Here's  a  letter  for  you. 
Benny  got  it  as  he  came  from  school,  but  I  forgot  to  give 
it  to  you  at  supper  time.  Open  it  and  see  what  it  is 
about.  {Hands  letter.) 

Graham — (Taking  it) — A  letter  for  me.  I  wonder 
who  it  can  be  from.  As  true  as  I  live  it  is  post-marked 
New  York.  It  must  be  from  Higgleson  &  Co.,  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  Excelsior  Gift  Enterprise.  (Opens  and 
glances  over  it.)  Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah  !  (Jumps  from 
table  and  dances  around  the  room.)  It  is  from  Higgleson 
&  Co.,  and  I  have  drawn  the  second  prize.  Hurrah, 
hurrah!  Why  don't  you  throw  up  your  hat,  Jenny? 
Why  don't  you  shout?  Why  don't  you  dance?  We 
are  rich  folks  now.  We  are  as  rich  as  the  Joneses,  or  the 
Harrisons,  or  the  McNarys.  Jenny,  why  don't  you  throw 
up  your  hat? 

Jenny — Why,  Graham,  you  are  acting  kind  of  shallow 


no  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

like.  I  thiuk  you  should  u't  make  so  much  uoise  until 
you  are  sure  of  the  prize.  By  the  way,  what  is  the  second 
prize  ? 

Graham — It  is  a  farm  of  two  hundred  acres  in  Vir- 
ginia— that  rich  and  fertile  State — that  home  of  the 
Presidents — that  garden  spot  of  the  world  !  O  Jenny,  we 
are  wealthy  folks  now  !  We  needn't  stitch  and  sew  any 
more — we  can  live  without  working — we'll  lead  jolly  lives 
— we'll  go  to  the  city,  and  live  in  a  green  stone  front 
and  ride  in  our  carriage,  and  be  as  big  as  the  biggest ! 
Hurrah  for  Higgleson  &  Co.,  and  the  Excelsior  Gift  E  a- 
terprise ! 

Jenny — Graham,  I  believe  you  are  a  fool;  we'll  not 
go  to  the  city.  I'll  never  live  in  the  city.  I  very  much 
doubt  whether  your  prize  is  of  any  account,  but,  if  it  iji^ 
we  '11  not  sell  it  and  go  to  the  city  ;  that  I  'm  sure  of  Do 
you  think  I  'm  a  fool  ?  I  reckon  I  know  what  I  'm  doinj.'^. 
I  '11  live  in  the  village ;  I  '11  have  a  nice  little  house  on 
Main  street ;  but  as  for  going  to  the  city,  I  '11  never  go,  so 
that's  settled. 

Graham — Well,  Jenny,  I  guess  we'll  see  about  that. 
I  guess  I'm  boss  here.  Who  bought  the  ticket  ?  I  'd  like 
to  know,  and  who  owns  the  farm  ?  I  'd  like  to  know.  I 
guess  I  can  do  as  I  please  with  my  own  property.  I  '11 
show  you  if  I  can 't, 

Jenny — And  I  '11  show  you.  I  am  not  going  to  allow 
you  to  go  to  the  city,  for  if  you  do,  you  'd  take  to  drink- 
ing and  gambling  just  like  the  Jones  boys,  and  you  'd  soon 
he  on  the  broad  road  that  leads  to  destruction.  You're 
on  that  road  now,  Graham,  and  it  is  hard  to  tell  what  will 
liocome  of  you. 

Graham — Hold  your  tongue,  I  say,  and  leave  the 
room. 

Jenny — Yes,  that 's  the  way  it  is.    {Crying.)     Oh,  has 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  111 

It  come  to  this  ?  I  am  told  to  hold  my  tongue  and  leave 
the  room.  Well,  I  '11  go  right  home  to  ray  father's,  and 
then  you'll  see  how  fast  you'll  go  down  hill. 

[^Exit  crying. 
Graham — AVhat  a  dunce  that  woman  is.  She  must 
kick  up  a  fuss  just  about  nothing  at  all.  But  she  wont 
go  to  her  father's,  I  know.  I  wouldn't  care  if  she  did. 
But  I  '11  be  off  to  bed  now,  and  off  to  New  York  early  in 
the  morning.  [^Exit. 

[  Curtain.'] 

Scene  II.— A  room  in  Graham  Allcorn's  house. 

Enter  Graham  Allcorn,  carpet-bag  in  hand. 

Graham — Home  again,  and  a  pretty  wild-goose  chase 
I've  had  of  it.  Wont  Jenny  crow  when  she  hears  it 
aH?  By  the  way,  I  wonder  where  she  is.  She  certainly 
wouldn't  put  that  foolish  threat  of  hers  into  execution, 
and  go  to  her  father's.  It  would  make  the  old  gentleman 
rage  like  a  thunder-storm  on  a  summer's  evening.  I  sup- 
pose the  children  are  at  school.  Well,  I  've  been  to  school 
too,  and  learned  a  hard  lesson,  and  a  lesson  I  '11  not  soon 
forget.     But  here  she  comes ! 

Enter  Jenny. 

Graham — Jenny,  how  do  you  do  ?  Are  n't  you  glad 
to  see  me  ? 

Jenny — No ;  why  should  I  be,  when  you  told  me  to 
shut  my  mouth  and  leave  the  house? 

Graham — Ah,  Jenny,  so  I  did,  but  I  was  angry. 
Can't  you  forgive  me?  And  if  you  will,  I'll  forgive  you 
for  talking  so  fiery  to  me.  You  know  you  rained  it  down 
pretty  strong. 

Jenny — Why  don't  you   tell   me  about  the  second 


112  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

prize  ?     Did  you  sell  the  farm  and  buy  a  brown  stone 
front,  and  a  carriage,  and  a  new  suit  ?    Tell  me  all  about  it. 

Graham — Ah,  Jenny,  I'm  a  sold  man.  The  farm 
is  n't  worth  a  dollar. 

Jenny — Why,  how  does  that  come  ?  Did  n't  you  say 
it  was  valued  at  fifty  thousand  dollars  ?  I  suppose  you 
did  n't  let  Higgleson  &  Co,  cheat  you  out  of  it  ? 

Graham — Cheat!  no!  I'd  like  to  twist  their  necks 
for  them.  The  farm  is  made  up  of  rocks  and  mountains, 
and  isn't  Avorth  a  copper.  Hold  on,  Jenny,  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it.  I  went  to  New  York,  as  you  know ; 
and  as  soon  as  I  got  there,  I  rushed  to  the  "  Excelsior " 
office,  and  made  some  inquiries  about  the  second  prize. 
I  tried  to  sell  the  farm  to  Higgleson  &  Co.,  at  their  valua- 
tion of  it,  and  they  laughed  in  my  face.  I  then  came 
down  in  my  price,  again  and  again,  and  finally  offered  it 
to  them  for  five  dollars.  They  said  they  didn't  want  it, 
and  would  n't  have  it.  I  gave  them  a  piece  of  my  mind, 
and  then  I  came  home ;  and  here  I  am,  less  ten  dollars  in 
my  pocket. 

Jenny — And  so  your  visions  of  a  city  life,  and  a  brown 
stone  front,  have  vanished. 

Graham — Truly  they  have,  Jenny.  Now,  don't  be 
old-womanish,  and  say,  "  I  knew  it  would  be  so,"  but 
forgive  me,  and  let  us  go  on  in  the  old  way. 

Jenny — I  am  willing,  Gi^aham,  and  I  rejoice  that  it 
has  turned  out  as  it  has.  While  we  owned  the  two  hun- 
dred acres,  worth  fifty  thousand  dollars,  we  were  unhappy. 
We  quarreled  just  like  the  rich  Joneses  up  the  road. 
Now  we  are  poor  again,  and  we'll  be  as  happy  as  the 
days  are  long. 

Graham — Yes,  Jenny,  and  we'll  never  forget  the 
lesson  of  the  "  Second  Prize  !  "  \_Exit, 

[_CurtainJ] 


STERLING   DIALOGUKS  IK' 

WASHINGTON'S  VISION. 

A  TABLEAU. 


nn  A  T?  A  rTTrT?«       I  Thirteen  Young  Ladies,  repre- 
OMAK Al.  1  t^tii, :—  j      senting  the  thirteen  Colonies. 

Faith. 

Hope. 

Goddess  of  Liberty. 

Washington. 

Costumes. — The  youn?  ladies,  representing  the  thirteen  Colonies, 
should  be  dressed  in  lilack,  badges  of  mourning  ;  a  silver  band  en- 
circling the  head  of  each,  upon  which  is  printed  the  name  of  the 
Colony  which  she  represents. 

Faith  and  Hope,  wliite  dresses,  spangled  with  silver  or  gold, 
colored  stars.  Paper  of  the  same  color,  cut  to  imitate  wings,  pinned 
upon  the  shoulders.  Bands  upon  the  heads,  with  Faith  printed 
upon  one,  and  Hope  upon  the  other. 

CiODDESS  of  Liberty,  with  a  blue  trailing  dress,  white  over, 
skirt,  and  a  red  sash ;  a  scalloped  band  upon  the  head,  upon  which 
is  printed,  Liberty.     A  United  States  flag  in  her  hand. 

Washington,  dressed  in  black  coat  and  pants,  and  white  vest; 

£ants  short,  buckled  just  below  the  knee,  with  a  steel  or  silve" 
uckle ;  long,  white  stockings,  low  shoes  and  steel  buckles. 


—A  sleeping  apartment.  Washington  upon  a  couch,  asleep. 
Colonies,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  couch,  standing  in  a  semi- 
circle, frtrms  sliirhtly  bowed,  lofiking  down  upon  the  floor.  A 
chain,  extended  in  frrxit  of  thcin,  as  if  fastened  ujion  the  wrists  of 
the  Coionies,  but  so  arranged  that  it  can  be  dropj)ed  instantly. 

[^Let  some  one  behind  the  Curtain  read  these  ivords :'} 
"1  am  weary  with  my  groaning.  All  the  night  I 
water  my  couch  with  my  tears.  Mine  eye  is  consumed 
because  of  grief.  Tlie  enemy  persecutes  my  soul ;  yea,  ho 
treads  down  my  life  upon  the  earth  ;  he  lays  mine  honor 
in  the  dust.  I  am  troubled,  I  am  bowed  down  greatly. 
T  go  mourning  all  the  day  long.  I  have  roared  by  reason 
of  the  di.squietno.es  of  my  heart." 

[Enter  Hopk  and  Faith,  walking  to  the  head  of 
Wahiiington.] 

Hopk  —  (EcnHlnri  dnvm,  nppnrenfljf  v^hii>pcri,ng  in  his 
ear,  while  these  words  are  read:) — "Why  art  thou  cast 


IH  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

down,  O  "Washington  ?  Why  is  thy  soul  disquieted  within 
thee?  Hope  thou  in  God,  for  thou  shalt  yet  praise  Him 
for  the  help  of  His  countenance." 

Y AITH— (Pointing  upivards,  while  the  reader  continues :) 
— "I  cried  unto  the  Lord  with  my  voice,  and  He  has 
heard  me  out  of  His  holy  hill.  I  will  not  be  afraid  of  ten 
thousand  of  people  that  have  set  themselves  against  me 
round  about.  Thou  wilt  save  the  afflicted  people.  Thou 
wilt  bring  down  high  looks.  Blessed  be  the  Lord  God, 
who  doeth  wondrous  things.  By  Him  I  can  run  through 
a  troop,  and  by  my  God  can  I  leap  over  a  wall.  He 
teacheth  my  hands  to  war,  and  my  fingers  to  fight.  I 
have  pursued  my  enemies,  and  overtaken  them.  I  shall 
not  turn  back  until  they  are  consumed.  They  have  fallen 
under  my  feet,  and  are  not  able  to  rise.  The  chains  of 
oppression  are  broken,  and  I  am  delivered  from  their 
power." 

[^Chains  fall  from  Colonies.  Faith  and  Hope  vanish 
quickly.'] 

Enter  Goddess  of  Liberty. 

[Goddess  of  Liberty,  tvaving  banner,  takes  her 
stand  at  the  head  of  Washington.  Colonies  sur- 
round the  couch.  Goddess  of  Liberty  waves 
banner  over  all,  while  they  sing  the  "  Star  Spangled 
Banner."     Instrumental  music,  if  desired.] 

[  Curtain.] 


tf 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  "ilh 

CUEmO  AN   INVALID. 


CHAEACTEES :— Aunt  Jaxe,  an  Invalid. 
Julia,      ] 

Ida,  [  her  Xieces. 

Amanda,  J 
Mrs.  Gr.KEK,  Neighbor. 


Scene. — A  neatly  furnished  room  ;  an  old  lady  in  an  easy  chair. 

Aunt  Jane — "Well,  here  I  am  left  all  alone,  and  just 
as  sick  as  I  can  be,  and  them  good-for-nothing  girls  gad- 
ding about  somewhere,  and  I'll  declare,  it's  'most  eight 
o'clock,  and  I  've  no  breakfast  yet.  Well,  well,  well,  that's 
what  I  call  gratitude,  after  all  I  've  done  for  them.  I  '11 
not  put  up  with  it ;  so  there.  (She  rings  violently,  and 
calls  Mandy,  Idee,  and  Juley.)  Can't  some  of  you 
come  ? 

Enter  three  girls.  Julia,  with  a  wash  howl  of  water  and 
a  white  towel,  kneels  down  for  xVunt  Jane  to  wash. 
Amanda  with  a  fan.  Ida,  with  a  comb  and  brush, 
combs  Aunt  Jane's  hair. 

Amanda — (Fanning  her  aunt) — Why,  aunt,  are  you 
well  enough  to  be  up  so  early  this  morning? 

Aunt  Jane — Up  so  early"!  I  .should  think  it  wasn't  so 
early,  when  I've  been  up  three  mortal  hours  ! 

Ida — Oh,  aunt,  three  hours! 

Aunt  .Jane — (Snappishly) — Yes,  three  hours.  What 
is  there  strange  about  that? 

Julia — It  Lsn't  eight  yet,  aunt,  and  you  told  us  lo  call 
you  at  (light. 

Aunt  Jane — Well,  what  if  I  did  ?  You  might  have 
looked  in  to  sec  if  I  wanted  anything. 

Ida — I  di^l  romo  in  at  ?\x,  and  at  quarter  after  sevea 
and  you  were  sound  asleep — 


116  '  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Amanda — And  snoring  away  like  everything.  O  aunt, 
what  a  funny  snore  you  've  got ! 

Aunt  Jane — Snoring,  snoring !  Oh,  you  wicked  littl* 
wretch.     I  never  did  snore  in  my  life.    Never,  never. 

All  the  Girls — {Laughing) — We  thought  you  did. 

Aunt  Jane — Thought  I  did  !  Well,  perhaps  you  think' 
I  don't  want  anything  to  eat  to-day. 

Julia — Oh,  yes,  aunt,  I  have  your  breakfast  almost 
ready. 

Aunt  Jane — And  pray  what  have  you  got  to  make 
such  a  fuss  about  ? 

Julia — Tea,  toast,  fresh  eggs, — • 

Aunt  Jane — There  now,  I  knew  it.  I  never  can  have 
anything  I  want. 

Ida — What  do  you  want,  aunt  ? 

Aunt  Jane — I  want  some  gruel,  and  you  all  know 
that. 

Julia — Yes,  aunt,  and  I  have  gruel,  too. 

Aunt  Jane — Well,  for  mercy's  sakes,  why  did  n't  you 
say  so  ?     Go  and  bring  it ;  do  n't  stand  there  all  day. 

(Julia  goes  out,  but  soon  returns  with  a  bowl.) 

Julia — Here  is  your  gruel,  aunt,  and  I  do  wish  you 
would  try  to  eat  the  toast  and  eggs. 

Aunt  Jane — (  Taking  the  bowl,  tasting  daintily) — Here, 
take  it  away ;  it 's  as  salty  as  brine.  Mercy,  mercy  me ! 
Oh,  dear ! 

J^JuLiA  goes  out,  but  soon  returns  with  a  nice,  tempting 
breakfast  on  a  large  waiter,  covered  with  a  white 
cloth.'] 

Julia — Here,  aunt,  is  your  breakfast,  and  some  fresh 
gruel  I  hope  you  can  eat. 

Aunt  Jane — (Tasting  again) — O  Juley,  it  haint  a 
single  bit  of  salt  in  it  now.  Was  there  ever  such  a  poor, 
neoflected  creature  as  I  am ! 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  111 

Ida— Dear  aunt,  do  try  to  eat  somethiug.  Julia  spent 
nearly  all  the  morning  trying  to  cook  you  something  nice. 

Amanda — Yes,  and  I  took  some  of  old  Skinflint's 
apples  for  you. 

Aunt  Jane — You  did,  hey  ?  And  pray,  who  gave  you 
permission  to  take  other  people's  apples  ? 

Julia — I  asked  Mr.  Green  for  them, 

Amanda — And  he  told  us  to  take  as  many  as  we  wan- 
ted, and  when  I  went  to  get  them,  old  Skinflint  (his  wife, 
you  know)  squalled  out  at  me  to  let  her  apples  alone.  O 
aunt,  if  you  was  such  an  old,  mean,  stingy  thing  as  she  is, 
I'd,  I'd— 

Aunt  Jane — "Well,  miss,  what  would  you  do  ? 

Amanda — I'd  get  married,  that  I  would.  Why,  aunt, 
she  ordered  me  home,  and  said  I  was  stealing  her  apples, 
and  she  would  call  and  tell  you  on  me  to-day. 

Aunt  Jane — She  did,  hey  ?  Well,  let  her  come,  we 
will  see.  Let  her  tell  me  you  stole !  (Aunt  Jane  eats 
heartily,  drinks  her  gruel,  and  keeps  repeating  to  herself:) 
My  girls  steal !  We  '11  see.)  (Some  one  knocks.) 

Aunt  Jane — Here,  girls,  take  this  away.  Idee,  give 
me  my  walking  stick.  We'll  see.  My  girls  steal, 
indeed !  lExit  Julia,  Ida  and  Amanda. 

Enter  Mrs.  Green,  a  tall,  lean,  lanky,  shabby-looking 
woman,  with  a  pipe  in  her  mouth. 

Aunt  Jane — Good  morning,  Mrs.  Green. 

Mrs.  Green — Good  morning.  I  haint  no  time  to  stop. 
I  jist  stepped  over  to  tell  you  that  your  girls  has  been  in 
my  orchard  a — 

Aunt  Jane — Ju.st  stop  a  moment,  !Mr.s.  Green.  Yoh 
might  say  something  that  would  hurt  my  feelin's;  I'm 
tender,  been  sick,  you  know  ;  besides,  I  want  to  know  who 


118  STERTJNG   DIALOGUES 

Stayed  with  you  and  sat  up  of  nights  to  let  you  sleep,  when 
you  was  broke  down,  a- waiting  on  your  sick  old  man  last 
summer  ? 

Mrs.  Green — You  did,  ma'am,  but — 

Aunt  Jane  —  Hold  on;  who  stayed  with  you?  who 
carried  you  butter,  fresh  eggs,  and  so  on,  when  you  had 
none  ? 

Mrs.  Green — ^Your  girls. 

Aunt  Jane — Who  helped  you  drive  the  cattle  out  of 
your  orchard  ?  Who  lifted  heavy  rails  to  fix  the  fence, 
when  your  old  man  was  down  ? 

Mrs.  Green — Your  girls;  but  it  don't  become  you  to 
be  a  tellin' — 

Aunt  Jane— Well,  now,  I  want  you  to  shet  up  and  go 
home,  and  remember,  if  I  scold  my  girls,  I  do  n't  'low  no- 
body else  to  scold  them. 

Mrs.  Green — I  will  have  my  say,  'low  or  no  'low.  If 
they  did  do  all  that,  I  haint  gwine  to  have  them  a  stealin' 
my  apples — 

Aunt  Jane — (Jumping  up,  drives  Mrs.  Green  out  of 
the  room,  whipping  her  over  the  shoulders  with  her  walking 
gficyfe)— Steal !  my  girls  steal,  hey  ?     Steal  indeed  ! 

{The  three  girls  come  from  behind  a  screen  laughing.) 

Amanda— Our  aunt  dined,  drank  grew-well  (gruel), 
and  whipped  Mrs.  Green  !     Hurrah  for  Aunt  Jane ! 

[  OurtainJ] 


STERLIXQ    DIALOGUES  119 

LITTLE  FOLK'S  OPINIONS. 


CHAEACTERS  :-AxVNIe  Lee,     1  ^      ^,,,   q.  , 
Birdie  Bell,  J  ^^°  mueuiris. 

Scene. — Annie  and  Bikdie,  sitting  very  close  together. 

Annie — Did  n't  you  know,  Birdie,  I  'se  dot  a  new  dol- 
lie  ?     My  dranmuzzer  div  it  to  me  on  Tris'mas  day. 

Birdie — And  I  'se  dot  a  new  dollie,  too,  and  a  pair  of 
new  shoes,  and  a  'ittle  box  and  a  tup  and  a  saucer,  and 
ever  so  many  ozzer  tings.  Oh,  my,  but  I  does  have  the 
fun  a-p'ayiu'  wiz  zem. 

Annie — Tum  down  to  our  house  some  day,  and  I'll 
show  you  ray  new  dollie  and  a  whole  heap  of  ozzer  tings. 
My  dollie 's  dot  sich  pitty  eyes  and  sich  rosy  cheets,  and 
oh,  sich  a  funny  nose.  It  dist  mates  me  feel  dood  all 
over  to  loot  at  it. 

Birdie — It  was  my  Untie  Don  yat  dive  me  my  new 
dollie.  I  tell  'oo  my  Untie  Don  is  a  real  nice  old  man, 
I  like  him,  oh,  ever  so  much.  Last  Fantsdiven'  he  buyed 
a  bid  turkey  and  div  it  to  ma,  and  she  would  a  tooked  it 
for  a  Fantsdiven'  dinner,  but  her  and  pa,  and  Untie  Don 
aid  me  was  inyited  to  do  to  a  Fantsdiven'  up  at  Untie 
Yeuben's,  and  so  we  did  n't  have  our  turkey,  for  Untie 
Yeuben's  folts  said  we  must  besoor  and  do,  and  ma  said 
Aunt  Yachel  and  Untie  Yeuben  would  both  be  hoppin'  if 
we  didn't  do.  I  did  n't  know  yat  Aunt  Yachel  and  Untie 
Yeuben  tould  hop.  I  dis  tought  it  was  'ittle  folts  like  you 
and  me  yat  hops,  and  when  I  yent  down  on  Fantsdiven' 
I  ast  Aunt  Yarh(;l  and  Untie  Y('ul)on  if  dey  had  beou 
a  hoppin'  any  lately.  Untie  Don  he  jist  laughed  and 
laughed,  and  Aunt  Yachel  said  dey  used  to  pay  at  hop, 
step  and  jump  when  dey  was  'ittle,  but  dey  had  n't  jj'ayed 
any  at  it  yately.     Then  Untie  Don  he  jist  ho-hocd  and 


120  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

haw-hawed  awful,  and  Untie  Yeuben  said  he  did  n't  sink 
there  was  much  to  laugh  about.  I  'd  ast  more  about  the 
hoppin',  but  muzzer  toot  me  out  of  the  room  awful  twick 
jist  lite  she  tot  I  was  sit  or  had  the  tolic  or  somethin'. 
When  we  was  out  she  telled  me  not  to  say  nussin'  more 
about  the  hoppin',  and  I  didn't  say  nussin'  more  'bout  it. 

Annie — We  had  a  turkey  on  Fantsdiven',  too,  and  it 
was  a  dolly  big  feller.  Our  Harry  he's  dot  to  sayin'  big 
words  now,  and  he  said  it  was  a,  7'ooter.  I.  don't  know 
what  a  rooter  is,  but  muzzer  said  for  Harry  to  hush  and 
not  say  sich  words  as  yat.  Harry  said  it  wasn't  a  swear- 
word, but  muzzer  would  n't  a'yow  him  to  say  it  anyhow, 
as  it  wasn't  a  nice  word.  Harry  said  he  dot  it  from 
Frank  Dones,  and  I  des  Frank 's  a  nice  enough  boy.  He 
smotes  a  cidar,  and  is  dittin'  to  feel  pitty  big.  Harry  said 
Frank  was  talkin'  about  Mr.  Smith,  and  he  said  he  was  a 
rooter.     I  do  n't  lite  'ittle  boys  as  smotes  cidars,  do  you  ? 

Birdie — No,  I'm  soor  I  don't.  Cidars  mates  boys 
have  sich  a  bad  smell.  I  hate  the  smell  of  tobatto.  My 
Untie  Don  smotes.  I  sink  I  'd  lite  him  a  dood  'eal  better 
if  he  wouldn't  smote. 

Annie — I  dess  I'll  have  to  do  home  now.  Let  us  do 
and  see  if  our  muzzers  are  still  talkin'  to  each  ozzer.  My  ! 
but  dey  do  talk  fast  when  dey  dit  togezzer. 

Birdie — Annie,  I  lites  you  a  heap,  and  I'se  doin'  to 
dive  you  sumsiu. 

Annie — You  are !     Oh,  doodie !  what  is  it  ? 

Birdie — Tum  on  and  I  '11  so  it  to  you.  I  tink  you  'U 
be  so  dlad  you  '11  dump  up  and  down.  lExit. 

[  OiirtainJ] 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  12jl 

THE   DOCTOR'S   CHOICE. 


CHARACTERS  :— Mary  Lowe,  a  poor  Dress-maker. 
Maggie,  her  iuvalid  Sister. 
Miss  Smith,  Lady  of  fashiou. 
Dk.  Dane,  Maggie's  physiciau,  and  admirer  of 
Miss  Smith. 


Scene  I. — A  plain  room  in  a  dark,  narrow  street. 

Maggie — I've  been  thinking,  sister  Mary,  of  our  old 

Lome  on  the  hill, 
Where  your  face  was  round  and  rosy,  and  the  nights 

were  always  still ; 
I'm  so  wearied,  since  this  illness,  of  the  loud  talk  in  the 

street. 
Of  the  roll  of  wagons  past  the  house,  and  the  constant 

tramp  of  feet. 
I'm  so  tired,   Mary,  tired,  that  the  fretful  words  will 

come ;  {Anxiously.) 

Why  wont  you  leave  this  noisy  place— why  wont  you 

take  me  home? 

Mary — Why,  my  dear  child,  how  grieved  I  am  to  hear 
these  words  from  you !  {Lays  aside  her  work.) 

I  '11  lay  aside  my  work  awhile.  What  would  you  have 
me  do? 

Y'ou  will  not  grieve  me  long,  I'm  sure,  by  these  impatient 
ways  ; 

You  know  the  same  God  rules  the  storm  that  rules  the 
pleasant  days. 

Have  y(m  i'orgotten  Him  whose  love  has  been  the  or- 
phan's stay, 

And  that  it  is  the  same  wise  love  that's  darkened  all 
the  way  ? 


122  STERLING  DIALOGUES 

Maggie — No,  Mary,  no,  I  know  'tis  so;  but  sinful 

thoughts  will  come, 
When  I  lie  helpless,  watching  you,  and  think  of  our  old 

home. 
You  know  there  was  no  sickness  there,  you  did  not  toil 

for  bread ; 
And  what  was  once  all  light  and  love,  is  want  and  pain 

instead. 

Mary — But  God  has  wrought  this  change,  my  child, 
we  would  not  wish  it  so. 

Should  we  question  what  He  does  ?  He  can  not  err,  you 
know. 

No,  darling,  though  this  fearful  night  be  deep,  and  dark, 
and  long, 

Though  we  be  weary  on  the  way,  God's  grace  shall  make 
us  strong. 

Now  close  those  aching  eyes  awhile,  for  I  must  work  to- 
night ; 

Trust  all  the  future  to  our  God,  we  know  He  '11  make  it 
right.       {Some  one  taps  lightly  and  opens  the  door.) 

Enter  Miss  Smith. 

Miss  Smith — Good  evening,  Miss :  I  've  called  to  see 
if  all  my  work 's  complete  ; 
I  sadly  fear  I  've  soiled  my  skirts  on  this  dark,  narrow 
street  {Shahes  her  clothes^) 

Mary — {Setting  a  chair) — I  'm  grieved,  Miss  Smith,  to 
say  to  you  what  I  have  said  to  none ; 
The  work  I  promised  you  to-night  now  lies  but  partly  done. 

Miss   Smith — (Angrily) — Is    that   so,   Miss?   indeed, 
indeed  ! 
I  wonder  w>iat  excuse  you  '11  plead. 


STERLING   DIALOG-JES  123 

Mary — Miss  Smith,  my  sister,  being  ill,  has  called  for 
constaut  care ; 
I  've  given  your  dress  all  the  time  that  this  sick  child 
could  spare. 

Miss  Smith — Well,  I  can't  be  put  off  like  this  ;  since 

illness  takes  your  time, 

You  best  had  tend  the  sick  one's  needs,  nor  strive  to  tend 

to  mine.  {Sits  down.) 

Please  do  my  work  up,  nor  expect,  for  work  you  've  done 

before, 
Remuneration,  since  the  task  of  having  this  made  o'er. 

{Shakes  the  half-finished  dress.) 

Mary — {With  some  excitement) — Young  lady,  wait, 
please  hear  me  through  ;  not  for  myself  I  speak, 

But  for  my  suffering  sister  there,  so  pale,  so  frail  and 
weak. 

Day  after  day  I've  planned  and  toiled  through  this  hard, 
trying  spring, 

To  appease  a  poor,  sick  sister's  wants  by  what  this  toil 
would  bring. 

And  has  it  been  in  vain.  Miss  Smith,  must  this  child  suf- 
fer on, 

Because  my  hands  have  failed  to  do  all  that  you  would 
have  done  ?  (  Weeps.) 

M188  Smith — (  Taking  out   her  purse) — Ah  !    quite  a 
scene  indeed,  indeed  !     Here  is  a  silver  dime, 
'Twill  buy  you  bread  for  quite  a  while,  and  keep  you  for 
a  time. 

Mary — {Looking  %ip  with  indignation) — T  am  not  asking 
alms,  Miss  Smith,  and  each  cent  should  be  spurned. 
From  your  full   purse,  uuless  it's  what  you  justly  think 
I  've  earned. 


124  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Door  opens,  and  Dr.  Dane  enters. 

Miss  Smith — (^Rising  and  appearing  to  he  confused)— 
You  here,  indeed  !  how  shocked  I  am !  I  really  can 
not  see — 

Dr.  Dane — {Smiling  and  shaking  hands) — And  I  am 

equally  surprised  that  this  strange  thing  should  be. 

(  Turning  suddenly  to  Mary,  exclaims :) 

And  what  means  this,  my  friend?     These  tears — is  my 

young  patient  worse  ? 

(Looks  at  Maggie  and  smiles.) 

You  know  the  blues  will  never  do  for  doctor  or  for  nurse. 

(  Goes  to  Maggie,  who  is  also  weeping.) 

What  means  this,  ladies  ?     Pray  explain — why  this  great 

grief  to-day  ? 
I  think  it 's  best  that  I  should  know  ;  explain  it,  Nettie, 
pray.  (Turning  to  Miss  Smith.) 

Miss  Smith — (Curling  her  lip  scornfully) — I  do  not 
feel  in  duty  bound  to  explain  pauper  grief, 
Nor  give  an   inexperienced  guess  at  what  might  bring 
relief. 

Dr.    Dane  —  (Appearing    grieved)  —  Miss    Smith — 
Annette — I  am  shocked  !     This  talk  will  never  do. 

Mary — Dr.  Dane,  'tis  proper,  sir,  I  should  explain  to 
you. 
I  have  been  sewing  several  weeks  for  this  young  lady,  sir, 
I'd  promised  work    complete   to-night,  and  I've   disap- 
pointed her. 

Miss  Smith — (Rising) — Please  have  my  work  all 
ready.  Miss,  my  servant  soon  will  call ; 

^  ( To  Dr.  Dane.) 

I'll  leave  here  now — then,  Dr.  Dane,  you'll  hear  the 
story  all. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  12* 

Mary — {Quietly) — You  judge  unjustly ;  truly,  ma'am, 
I've  nothing  more  to  say  ; 
Your  work  I  '11  see  is  well  prepared  when  the  servant 
calls.     Good-day. 

(Miss  Smith  hows  superbly  and  goes  out.) 

[  Clurtain.l 

Scene  II. — Maggie  sits  up  looking  brighter. 

Enter  Dr.  Dane,  smiling. 

Dr.  Dani^: — Ah  !  better,  Maggie — this  I  know  by  the 
bright  light  in  your  eyes — 

Full  well  enough,  your  sister  says,  for  a  wonderful  sur- 
prise. 

You  know  your  old  home  on  the  hill,  you've  loved  so 
well  and  long, 

I've  bought  that  very  place  to-day — this  news  must  make 
you  strong ; 

Because — oh,  here's  the  lady  now,  all  blushes,  too,  you 
see, 

Who's  promised  to  be  mistress  there,  (taking  her  hand,) 
and  walk  through  life  with  me. 

Maggie — ( With  much  confusion) — Why,  Mary — Dr. 
Dane  —  indeed  1  I  thought  Miss  Smith — you 
know — 

Dr.  Dane — Yes,  my  dear  child,  we  understand,  and 

rejoice  that  'tis  not  so. 
Maggie,  that  lady's  real,  true  heart,  in  its  benighted  state, 
Was,  happily,  unveiled  to  me  before  it  was  loo  late. 
Her  proud   and  selfi.sh   ways,  my  child,  God  meant  they 

should  be  IwuikmI  ; 
But   the   m(;:isur(!   tliat   she's   meted    out  wo   would    not 

wish  returned. 


126  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Mary — No,  while  we  are  offering  thanks  to-day,  for 
this  great  joy  we  find, 
We'll  pray  that  Heaven's  pure,  perfect  rays  may  pierce 
her  darkened  mind. 

[  Curtain.^ 


THE  UN^'^ELCOME  GUEST. 


CHARACTERS :— Edward  Simpson. 

Mrs.  Emeline  Simpson,  his  "Wife. 
John  Simpson,  his  Brother,  and  a  Guest. 
Martin  Jones. 
Mrs.  Eliza  Jones,  his  Wife. 


Scene. — A  room  in  Edward  Simpson's  house.    Mr.  and  Mrs. 

Simpson  discovered. 

Mrs.  Simpson — Edward,  I  may  just  as  well  say  plainly 
that  I  think  we  must  do  something  to  get  your  brother  off 
our  hands.  He  has  been  here  now  over  two  weeks,  and 
he  stays  and  stays  just  as  if  this  was  his  home,  and  as  if 
he  had  n't  the  slightest  idea  of  ever  going  away. 

Edward  Simpson — You  are  quite  right,  wife ;  we  must 
get  him  away.  I  thought  it  possible,  when  he  came  here, 
that  he  had  plenty  of  money ;  but  that  idea  has  vanished 
entirely.  If  he  had  money,  he  would  not  go  around  so 
shabbily  dressed.  He  had  the  audacity  to  hint  to  me, 
yesterday,  that  I  might  buy  him  a  new  coat ;  just  as  if  I 
had  n't  enough  to  do  to  buy  new  coats  for  myself  and  my 
children. 

Mrs.  Simpson — Oh,  the  impudence  of  some  people !  I 
am  sure  we  have  done  very  well  in  keeping  him  these  two 
weeks,  and  not  charging  him  a  cent  for  his  boarding. 
And  now  he  wants  a  new  coat,  does  he?  I  wonder  he 
did  n't  ask  for  a  full  suit ;  he  certainly  has  need  of  it ;  but 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  127 

he  needn't  expect  to  get  it  here.  But  are  you  sure, 
Edward,  that  he  didn't  bring  any  money  home  with 
him  ? 

Edward  Simpson — Yes,  quite  sure.  I  didn't  say  any 
thing  to  him  about  it,  but  John  was  never  the  man  to  go 
in  rags  if  he  had  any  money  in  his  pocket.  He  has  been 
away  for  fifteen  years,  you  know,  and  he  might  have  made 
plenty  of  money  in  that  time ;  but  it  is  my  impression, 
that  if  he  did  make  any  thing,  he  spent  it  all  before  he 
started  for  home. 

Mrs.  Simpson — "Well,  what  are  we  to  do  with  him  ? 

Edward  Simpson — Send  him  to  the  poorhouse,  I  sup- 
pose. I  do  n't  quite  like  to  do  that,  either ;  for  people 
will  talk,  and  they  will  say  I  ought  to  have  kept  him  in 
his  old  days. 

Mpj5.  Simpson — Let  them  talk.  It's  nobody's  business 
but  our  own,  and  it  will  all  blow  over  in  a  week  or  two. 
Of  course  we  can 't  have  him  on  our  hands  as  long  as  he 
lives,  merely  because  the  neighbors  will  talk  a  little  about 
our  sending  him  to  the  poorhouse. 

Edward  Simpson — No,  of  course  not.  Here  he  comes 
now  ;  we  must  inform  him  of  our  decision. 

Enter  John  Simpson,  shabbily  dressed. 

Edward  Simpson — John,  we  have  been  talking  about 
you. 

John — So  I  supposed.  I  thought  I  heard  my  name 
mentioned.  You  were  considering  that  matter  about  the 
coat,  were  you?     I  hope  you  will  think  favorably  of  it. 

Miis.  Simpson* — (  Bridling  up) — No,  sir;  we  were  not 
thinking  of  buying  you  a  coat,  but  we  were  speaking  of 
your  audacity  in  making  such  a  request. 

John — Ali !  wore  you?  Don't  you  see  I  am  old  now, 
and    dreadfully    cripjilcd    with     rheumatism?     And,    of 


128  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

course,  I  am  not  able  to  work  to  buy  myself  clothes.     If 
my  brother  will  not  take  care  of  me  now,  who  will? 

Mrs.  Simpson — That's  just  what  we  are  going  to  talk 
about. 

Epward  Simpson — Wife,  allow  me  to  speak  to  John 
about  this  matter.  (To  John.)  It  may  sound  a  little 
harsh  and  unpleasant,  but  we  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  we  can  not  keep  you  any  longer.  You  know  we  are 
not  very  well-off  in  this  world's  goods ;  we  have  not  much 
house-room,  and  we  have  three  children  that  demand  our 
attention.  We  have  kept  you  two  weeks,  and  we  think 
we  have  done  very  well.  We  feel  that  you  would  be 
considerably  in  our  road  here,  and  we  have  concluded  to 
send  you  to  the  poorhouse. 

John — The  poorhouse !  I  always  did  hate  the  poor- 
house.  It  must  be  so  lonesome  there;  and  then,  I  don't 
think  the  boarding  will  be  good.  Must  I  go  to  the  poor- 
house ? 

Edward  Simpson — Yes,  we  have  decided.  We  can 
not  keep  you. 

John — I  thought,  when  I  was  away,  that  if  I  could 
only  get  home  again,  I  would  find  my  brother  willing  to 
take  me  under  his  roof,  and  allow  me  to  end  my  days 
there.     But  I  was  mistaken.     When  must  I  go  ? 

Edward  Simpson — I  will  have  the  papers  made  out, 
and  be  ready  to  take  you  to-morrow  afternoon. 

John — Send  for  Eliza  Jones  and  her  husband.  They 
will  not  want  to  keep  me,  either,  I  suppose — how  can  I 
expect  them,  when  they  are  a  great  deal  poorer  than  you  ? 
But  send  for  them.  I  want  to  see  them,  and  say  good- 
bye, before  I  go  away. 

Edward  Simpson — Emeliue,  tell  Parker  to  run  across 
to  Jones'  for  his  Uncle  Martin  and  Aunt  Eliza. 

\_Exit  Mrs.  Simpson. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  12{> 

JoHif — If  they  do  not  treat  me  well  at  the  poorhouse, 
what  shall  I  do  ?  Cut  stick  and  run  off,  or  sue  them  for 
breach  of  promise  ? 

Edward  Simpson — (Aside) — It  seems  to  me,  he  takes 
it  exceedingly  cool.  But  it  is  better  he  should  do  so,  than 
to  make  a  noise  about  it.  (To  John.)  I  think  you  will 
be  well  treated.  The  Superintendent  is  very  kind  to  all 
under  his  care,  and  is  considered  a  perfect  gentleman. 

John — A  gentleman!  I'm  glad  of  that.  (Sarcasti- 
cally.) Ah!  Edward,  it  is  a  great  thing  to  be  a  gentleman. 

Edward  Simpson — I  am  glad  you  are  willing  to  go 
without  making  any  fuss  about  it.  You  know  people  will 
talk ;  and  they  would  talk  a  great  deal  more,  if  you 
should  be  opposed  to  going.  I  hope  you  will  not  think 
unkindly  of  us,  because  we  have  concluded  to  take  this 
step ;  you  see  we  can  not  well  keep  you  here ;  and  as  you 
are  getting  old,  and  are  greatly  afflicted  with  rheumatism, 
you  will  be  better  attended  to  there  than  you  could  be  here. 

John — Yes,  yes,  I  understand.  Don't  fret  about  me, 
Edward.  I  suppose  it  isn't  much  difference  where  I  live, 
and  where  I  end  my  days.  But,  Edward,  I  think  I  would 
not  have  treated  you  so.  However,  one  hardly  knows 
what  one  will  do  when  one  comes  to  the  i)inch.  If  I 
had  brought  home  a  market-basket  full  of  ninety-dollar 
gold-pieces,  perhaps  I  would  not  have  taken  up  so  much 
room  in  your  house,  nor  crowded  your  children  so  dread- 
fully. 

Enter  Mrs.  Simpson,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones. 

Mrs.  Joni-:s — (Ilunaimj  to  John) — O  John,  my  bro- 
ther, they  want  to  send  you  to  the  poorhouse !  You  shall 
not  go  !  you  shall  not  go ! 

Martin  Jones — No,  John,  you  shall  not  go.  While 
wo  have  a  crust  of  bread,  you  shall  share  it  with  us. 


£30  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

John — But  I  never  did  like  to  eat  crusts. 

Mrs.  Simpson  —  That's  him,  for  you!  He  doesn't 
want  to  pay  anything  for  his  board,  but  he  wants  to  have 
the  best. 

John — And  he  doesn't  like  to  eat  dirt. 

Mrs.  Simpson — Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  am  a  dirty 
cook? 

John — (  Wliistles  "  Yankee  Doodle  "  ) — Come,  if  I  am  to 
go  to  the  poorhouse,  let  me  be  off. 

Mrs.  Jones — You  shall  not  go.  We  are  poor,  but  you 
shall  stay  with  us.  We  can  find  room  for  you,  and  we 
will  be  provided  for,  I  '11  warrant,  someway. 

Mrs.  Simpson — People  oughtn't  to  be  rash  about  tak- 
ing on  a  load  they  can 't  carry. 

Edward  Simpson — Emeline,  if  Martin  and  Eliza  want 
to  keep  John,  let  them  do  so;  don't  say  a  word.  Of 
course,  I  think  they  have  quite  enough  to  do  to  keep  their 
own  heads  above  water ;  but  if  they  want  to  keep  John, 
it  is  their  own  business. 

John — Yes,  it  is  their  own  business ;  and  if  they  were 
on  the  point  of  sinking,  would  you  raise  a  finger  to  keep 
their  heads  above  water  ?  No  !  Edward — I  can  not  call 
you  brother — I  know  you  now.  I  leave  your  house  to-day, 
but  I  do  not  go  to  the  poorhouse.  I  have  money  enough  to 
buy  and  keep  a  hundred  such  little  farms  as  yours,  and  a 
hundred  such  little  men.  I  do  not  need  your  coats  nor  your 
cringing  sympathies  ;  I  wanted  to  find  you  out.  I  wanted 
to  know  what  kind  of  a  man  you  were,  and  /  know. 
When  I  came  home,  I  determined  to  find  out,  in  some 
way,  whether  you  or  the  Jones  family  were  most  deserv- 
ing of  my  money.  I  have  found  that  out ;  and  I  go  with 
them,  to  make  my  home  there. 

Mrs.  Simpson — But  we  didn't  know — 

John — Ay,  I  know  it.     You  thought  I  was  a  beggar; 


STERLING   DIAT.OGUES  131 

you  thought  I  had  no  money,  and  no  clothes.  If  you  had 
believed  otherwise,  you  would  have  received  me  with  open 
arms.  Come,  {To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones,)  we  will  go. 
I  shall  not  forget  you  for  your  kindness.  I  will  make  my 
home  with  you ;  and  if  it  is  true,  that  you  have  had  hard 
enough  work  to  keep  your  heads  above  water,  it  shall  be 
so  no  longer.  {To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Simpson.)  I  had  almost 
fc^rgotten.  Here  are  twenty  dollars,  for  my  two  weeks' 
board.  {Throws  doivn  the  bills.)  You  see  that  although 
I  may  have  a  shabby  appearance,  I  am  yet  able  to  pay  my 
way  in  the  world.     Good-day,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Simpson. 

[Exit  John  Simpson,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones- 
Edward  Simpson — Confound  the  luck ! 

{Hushes  out  at  one  side  of  the  stage.) 
Mrs.  Simpson — Isn't  this  dreadful ! 

{Mushes  out  at  the  other  side  of  the  stage.) 

[  Curtain.'] 


NOT  WHAT  HE  WANTED. 


CHARACTERS  :— Joe,  an  impatient  Boy. 
Myka,  his  Sister. 


He™'  }  ^i«  Companions. 


Scene  — A  sitting-room  on  a  hot  summer  day. 

.lo^—(Solu^.)—Oh,  dear  me!  What  shall  I  do?  I 
really  believe  I  shall  melt.  (Fanning  hiimelf  with  his  hat, 
and  jniffing  furiovdy.)  I  can 't  stand  such  awful  heat,  and 
I  never  saw  such  hot  weather  before.  It  is  enough  to  melt 
the  whole  human  race.  I  wonder  what  such  weather  waa 
raa^le  for.    Phew  !  I  can 't  stand  it  any  longer,  (pacing  and 


132  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

blowing  around  the  room,)  and  there's  no  use  of  talking. 
Why,  I  shall  melt ;  but  how  it  would  look  if  I  should  in- 
deed melt  and  turn  into  a  pot  of  grease !  But  see  how 
I  sweat;  and  see  how  red  my  face  is.  (Wiping  his  face 
while  he  looks  in  a  glass.)  Man  was  never  made  to  en- 
dure such  weather,  for  I  am  sure  if  I  get  much  hotter  I 
shall  certainly  be  hissing  hot.  My  handkerchief  is  as  wet 
as  a  dish-cloth,  and  looks  pretty  much  like  one.  The 
cologne  has  all  vanished,  and  no  wonder  at  it ;  all  been 
dissipated  into  vapor  by  the  heat  of  such  a  furnace;  and, 
like  it,  I  am  going  as  fast  as  possible.  I  don't  believe 
I  weigh  half  as  much  as  I  did  in  the  morning,  for  I  can 
almost  lift  myself  by  my  boot-straps,  and,  if  I  were  not  so 
hot,  could  throw  myself  by  them  over  a  stone  wall.  Oh^ 
dear,  what  shall  I  do?     I  ca7i't  stand  it  any  longer. 

{Making  a  great  noise,  stamping  around  the  floor.) 

Enter  Myra. 

Myra — Joe,  Avhat  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
What  is  all  this  fuss  and  noise  about  ? 

Joe — If  you  were  only  half  as  hot  as  I  am,  you  would 
soon  find  out  what  it  is  all  about.  I  believe  the  world  is 
coming  to  an  end  ;  I  know  it  is  burning  up ! 

Myra — Oh,  you  great  dunce  to  make  such  a  hurrah 
about  warm  weather.  Why  don't  you  sit  down  and  be 
quiet?  You  are  in  such  a  stew  you  will  never  become 
cool. 

Joe — I  guess  if  you  were  half  as  hot  as  I  am,  you  would 
make  a  bigger  fuss.  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  were  in  Greenland, 
Iceland,  or  astride  the  North  Pole,  or  hugging  an  iceberg  ; 
only  that  I  might  get  cooled  off  a  little. 

Myra — What  a  great  crazy  lubber  for  a  boy  of  fifteen, 
to  make  such  an  outrageous  ado  about  a  little  summer 
weathpr 1 


STT!RTJ>rO    PTALOGUE8  133 

Joe — Get  away  with  such  insults  when  I  am  suffering 
so  severely  ;  I  wont  endure  it. 

Myra — But  what  will  you  do  about  it  ?  The  heat  is 
just  as  great  in  my  case  as  in  yours.  What  if  I  should 
go  storming  around  as  you  do ;  and  all  the  rest  of  our 
folks  should  do  the  same ;  what  a  bedlam  we  should  have ! 

Joe — Now  you  leave  the  room  if  you  have  no  more 
sympathy  for  a  suffering  brother  than  this.  You  are 
around  here  as  cool  as  an  ice-cream  plate,  and  only  wish  to 
insult  vie  as  if  I  were  your  slave. 

Myra — Insult  you !  I  simply  said  that  I  am  exposed 
to  the  heat  of  the  weather  as  much  as  you  are,  which  is 
true,  and  you  call  that  insulting  !  But  more  than  this,  I 
have  been  in  the  kitchen  over  the  fire  helping  to  get  your 
dinner,  while  you  have  only  had  to  make  yourself  com- 
fortable as  best  you  could,  and  then  you  charge  me  with 
being  cool  as  an  ice-cream  plate,  in  a  most  insulting  way. 
Is  this  fair  ? 

Joe — I  don't  care,  you  don't  suffer  as  much  as  I  do. 
The  heat  of  the  kitchen  is  nothing  compared  to  this. 

(Sighing  heavily.) 

Myra — Then  you  had  better  go  into  the  kitchen  your- 
self if  that  is  any  help.  I  only  wish  you  would.  If 
standing  over  the  hot  stove  as  I  did  would  n't  take  some 
of  the  blubber  out  of  you,  then  I  will  set  myself  down  for 
a  dunce. 

Joe — Oh,  you  are  the  greatest  torment  in  the  world — 

Myra — Greater  than  the  heat  you  are  suffering  from  ? 

Joi-: — You  only  wish  to  torment  me  while  in  this  plight. 
What  do  I  can;  if  you  have  been  over  the  hot  stove  ? 
Perhaps  the  heat  does  not  affect  you  so  severely  as  it  does 
me.  You  can  .strut  around  wilh  laccx  and  thin  dresses, 
the  coolest  things  in  the  world.  No  wonder  the  heat  does 
not  discommode  you. 


134  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Myea — Why  don't  you  put  on  such  refrigerators  then? 
You  certainly  can  try  them,  and  the  experiment  wouldn't 
hurt  you,  since  you  think  them  to  be  so  excellent. 

Joe — Oh,  you  are  a  contemptible  pest !  See  my  hand' 
kerchief!     {Holding  it  up.)    See  how  it  is  soaked  ! 

Myra — Yes,  it  would  do  admirably  to  cover  a  kite  for 
all  the  wet  there  is  in  it.     But  how  it  is  stained  ! 

Joe — Yes,  the  berry  juice  is  stewing  through  with  the 
yei"spiration.     It's  those  berries  we  had  for  dinner. 

Myra — You  great  goose,  it's  where  you  spilled  your 
berries  over  it.  Ha,  ha !  Berry  juice  coming  through 
the  pores  of  the  skin !  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  ludi- 
crous idea  before  ? 

Joe — There,  everything  I  say  must  become  the  matter 
for  one  of  your  jests.  I  wish,  if  you  can  not  come  with  a 
ray  of  comfort,  you  would  stay  away  with  your  contemp- 
tible jokes. 

Myra — You  must  not  say  such  foolish  things  then.  It 
is  enough  to  make  a  marble  statue  laugh  to  hear  such 
nonsensical  remarks  from  a  young  man  so  professedly 
smart  as  Joe  Prettyman.  Why  do  n't  you  sit  down  and  be 
quiet ;  or  busy  yourself  about  something  ?  then  you  would 
not  think  of  hot  weather.  It  will  soon  be  evening,  and 
the  cool  breezes  will  remove  the  intensity  of  the  heat ;  then 
how  very  simple  all  this  conduct  of  yours  will  appear. 

Joe — I  don't  care,  I  can't  stand  it  much  longer.  I  am 
almost  melted.     I  feel  real  faint. 

{Leaning  against  the  wall.) 

Myra — Come  and  sit  down  here  and  I  will  fan  you. 
But,  see !  there  are  Henry  and  Martin  coming  through  the 
yard  with  some  ice,  I  should  think. 

Joe — (Quickly  reviving) — Oh,  that's  good!  and  if  I 
don't  have  some  of  it,  then  my  name  isn't  Joe. 

Myra — Well,  I  wouldn't  be  so  excited  about  it;  and 


STERLING   DIALOGUiS  135 

do  n't  go  to  beijig  mean  with  them,  or  you  may  be  sorry 
for  it. 

Joe — Yes,  now  you  had  better  turn  preacher  !  Do  n't 
you  suppose  I  have  a  bit  of  common  sense  ? 

Myea — (^Lookhifj  towards  them) — I  should  think  they 
have  some  ice  in  a  glass  jar.  How  delightful  on  such  a 
warm  day  ! 

Joe — (To  Myra) — Oh,  get  me  a  tumbler!     I'll  have 
gome  of  it,  if  I  have  to  steal  it.      Oh,  I  mil  have  some. 
l^AIaking  a  great  noise  till  he  finds  a  tumbler.     A  knock 
at  the  door.'] 

Enter  Henry  and  Martin,  bearing  a  glass  jar,  contain- 
ing what  seems  to  be  ice. 

Joe — {Hurrying  up  to  them) — Oh,  I  am  glad  you  've 
brought  me  some  ice,  for  I  am  almost  melted.  Here  is  a 
glass ;  give  me  a  drink  at  once.    (  With  much  importunity.^ 

Henry — (Carrying  the  jar) — Why,  Joe,  it  wont  be  of 
any  use — 

Martin — (  With  a  -peculiar  wink  to  Henry  and  Myra, 
which  they  at  once  undei'stand) — Yes,  you  shall  have  some. 
Bring  on  your  tumbler.  But  you  want  some  water  in  it 
first,  and  then  I  will  put  in  a  piece  all  for  yourself. 

Henry — Yes,  Joe,  if  you  want  some  go  and  fill  your 
tumbler  with  water.  How  warm  the  fellow  is.  See  how 
the  sweat  rolls  down  his  face. 

(Joe  goe.i  out  for  some  water.) 

Martin — ('Softly) — Keep  on  a  sober  face  and  we  will 
have  some  fun  with  Joe,  for  I  suppose  he  has  been  having 
one  of  his  tantrums. 

Myra — Tnrleed  he  has !  He  declares  he  is  going  to 
melt,  and  I  don't  see  as  we  can  ever  break  him  of  his  ex- 
travagant freaka. 


136  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Enter  Job. 

Henby — Hullo !  Here  he  comes  with  his  glass  brim- 
ming full.  O  Joe,  wout  you  have  a  treat  now  ?  Poor 
fellow,  to  suffer  so  much  irom  the  heat,  and  then  be 
laughed  at  as,  no  doubt,  you  have  been  by  Myra ! 

Myra — I  think  if  you  had  been  here  a  few  moments 
ago  you  would  have  laughed. 

Martin — Come,  my  brave  boy,  put  your  tumbler  on 
the  table  and  I  will  drop  in  some  pieces. 

Joe — Oh,  do  hurry,  for  I  can  hardly  wait. 

Myra — Joe,  why  don 't  you  set  down  the  tumbler  on 
the  table  ?  (  Taking  hold  of  his  hand.)  Pray  don 't  act 
so  foolish  before  folks ! 

Joe — Do  get  away,  you  little  torment,  for  I  can  man- 
age this  drink  myself  (Pushing  her  away.) 

Martin — (To  Joe) — Yes,  set  it  down  and  let  it  stand 
a  moment,  for  it  can 't  possibly  cool  so  much  water  in  a 
moment. 

[He  sets  it  down,  and  Martin  picks  out  a  few  pieces 
from  his  jar,  and  puts  them  into  the  tumbler,  when 
Joe  seizes  it  and  takes  a  swallow.'] 

Toe — Why,  this  isn't  one  particle  cooler  than  it  was 
before. 

Henry — Well,  didn't  we  tell  you  to  let  it  stand  to 
cool  ?     Now  let  it  alone  for  two  or  three  minutes. 

Joe — Oh,  but  I  am  so  hot !  Myra,  get  a  spoon  and 
stir  it.  (Myra  gets  one  and  stirs  the  water.) 

Martin — It  will  soon  be  ready.  Don't  you  see;  some 
of  it  is  melting  already  ! 

Joe — Yes  ;  but  some  of  it  do  n't  melt  at  all. 

Martin — Oh,  well,  that  that  don't  melt  is  frozen  a 

great   deal   harder  than  the  other.     It  is  singular  how 

hard  some  things  freeze. 

(  Winking  to  Myra  and  Henry.) 


STERLING  DIALOQTTES  137 

Joe — Well,  let  me  have  it  now,  I  can 't  wait. 

{Seizes  the  tuvihler  and  drahis  it  off  at  one  draugJU.l 

Henry — (Springing  to  him  quickly) — Don't  drink  so 
much  at  once ! 

Joe— Oh,  murder!  What  is  it?  What  is  it?  It 
is  n't  ice  ;  it  is  n't  cold !  Oh,  murder,  murder,  how  it 
burns  my  mouth  !     Is  it  poison — say  quick ! 

(JRun^  around  with  a  wry  face.) 

Martin — Don't  you  like  it,  Joe?  Isn't  it  good  this 
hot  weather  ? 

Joe — It's  poison,  it's  poison;  I  am  dying,  I  am  dying ! 

Myra — Boys,  what  is  it  ?  (Excitedly.)  Pray,  what  is  it  ? 

Henry — Do  n't  you  know  what  it  is,  Joe  ? 

Joe — Oh,  it's  poison,  it's  poison  ! 

Henry — Don't  you  know  what  it  is? 

Myra — Oh,  boys !  I  am  afraid  it  is  poisc«n !  See  how 
he  raves,  he  is  almost  distracted.  Had  n't  we  better  send 
for  a  doctor  ? 

Henry — Say,  Joe,  do  n't  you  hnov)  what  it  is  ? 

Joe — No.     But  I  know  well  enough  i^.'s  poison. 

Martin — Well,  if  you  did  n't  know  what  it  was,  why 
were  you  so  anxious  to  drink  it  ?  That  is  what  I  should 
like  to  know. 

Joe — Oh,  it 's  poison !  You've  poisoned  me  to  death ! 
I  know  I  shall  die. 

Martin — No,  you  wont  die  eitlier  ;  but  what  did  you 
want  to  drink  it  for  if  you  didn't  know  wliat  it  was? 

Joe — (  (Jdbning  himxclf  a  litllc) — I  thought  it  was  ice. 

Hknry — Well,  that  didn't  make  it  so,  did  it? 

Myra — You  say  it  isn't  poi.-on  ;  pray  what  is  it? 

Joe — (Brightening  up  still  more,  but  spitting  copiously) 
— Yes,  do  tell  wliat  it  is. 

Martin — (To  Joe) — You  say  it  is  poison;  if  it  is,  that 
settles  the  matter,  and  probably  it  will  kill  you. 


138  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Joe — Do  tell  me  quick,  is  it  poison  ? 

Henry — Did  you  ever  taste  anything  like  it  ? 

Joe — (^Puckering  his  mouth  as  if  trying  to  discover  what 
it  is) — I  should  think  it  was  alum. 

Henry — I  guess  it  does  pucker  a  little  like  alum,  for 
it  has  the  same  nature,  inasmuch  as  it  is  alum. 

Martin — Yes,  it  is  only  alum,  and  a  very  fine  speci- 
men of  quartz  rock  and  glass  for  our  museum.  So  cheer 
up,  for  it  will  not  kill  you  just  yet ;  neither  do  I  think  it 
will  quench  your  thirst  to  any  great  extent. 

Joe — But  what  did  you  say  it  was  ice  for  when  it  was 
not? 

Martin — We  never  said  it  was !  You  commenced 
furiously  on  us  as  we  came  in  to  show  them  to  you,  say- 
ing you  were  going  to  have  some  of  that  ice,  and  of 
course  ouj-  generosity  could  not  refuse  you  if  we  could  do 
you  any  service.  It  is  all  your  own  fault,  arising  from 
your  own  greediness. 

Joe — {Hanging  his  head  thoughtfully) — I  guess  you  are 
right.  {To  the  audience.)  It  was  the  celebrated  Dr. 
Franklin  who  said :  "  Never  drink  anything  without  see- 
ing it ;  never  sign  anything  without  reading  it,"  and  I  am 
now  pretty  well  convinced  from  experimental  knowledge, 
that  Benjamin  Franklin  was  a  wise  man;  and  further, 
that  if  the  old  saying,  that  "  Experience  is  the  best 
schoolmaster,"  is  true,  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  wiser  my- 
self in  the  future  than  I  have  been  in  the  past. 

[  Curtain.'] 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  139 


SAVED. 

CHARACTERS :— Phillips,  Barkeeper. 
Peters,  Drunkard. 
Blanche,  Drunkard's  child. 
Bolt,  Jailer. 
Policeman  No.  1. 
Policeman  No.  2. 


Faith,      ) 

Hope,        >  Three  young  Ladies. 

Charity,  ) 


CosTrMES.— Faith,  Hope  and  Charity  should  be  dressed  in 
■white  ;  hair  long  and  loose  over  their  shoulders,  a  band  of  white  for 
coronet,  with  a  gold  or  silver  star  at  the  forehead,  a  red  sash  passing 
over  one  shoulder  and  under  the  other  arm,  with  the  respective 
names  upon  them.  Peters  and  Blanche  in  ragged  clothes. 
Others  as  fancy  dictates. 

Note.— Between  the  scenes,  while  the  child  is  singing  behind  the 
curtain,  the  stage  may  be  cleared  for  the  next  scene.  If  spoken  in 
the  evening,  the  stage  should  be  dhnly  lighted  in  the  second  scene, 
only  one  distant  light,  and  that  above  the  speakers'  heads,  to  repre- 
sent the  moon. 

Scene  I. — A  bar-room. 

Enter  man  Jialf  drunk,  begging  for  more  drink. 

Peters — T-t-there's  no  use  talking,  landlord,  I  m-must 
have  just  one  mure  drink. 

PuiLLiFS — Show  me  your  money. 

Peters — D-did  u't  I  .say  I  haint  g-got  a  red  cent  to  my 
name  ? 

Phillips — Then  do  n't  come  round  me,  begging,  you 
poor  drunken  loafer  ;  make  yourself  off,  or  I'll — 

Peter.-? — D-d-do  n't  you  call  me  a  loafer,  or  I'll  give 
you  a  do.se  of  that.  (Shaking  his  fist.)  I'm  just  as  good 
as  you,  the  best  day  you  ever  see. 

Phillips — Come,  come,  don't  shake  you  fists  around 
here,  I  don't  want  to  fight.  You  had  better  go  and  earn 
a  sixpence  somewhere,  then  come  and  ask  for  a  drink, 
instead  of  standing  here,  begging  away  the  hard  earnings 
of  respectable  men. 


140  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Peters — {Straightening  up  and  speaking  quite  soberly) 
— Respectable  men!  Landlord,  I  aint  a  fool,  if  I  be 
drunk.  I  wonder  if  you  call  your  money  hard-earned, 
when  you  stand  here  behind  your  counter,  and  take  the 
last  shinplaster  from  the  hands  of  a  hundred  wretched 
drunkards  like  myself?  I  s'pose  you  think  you  are 
mighty  respectable,  because  you  can  wear  a  paper  collar 
and  good  clothes.  Landlord,  I  was  once  just  as  respecta- 
ble looking  as  you,  but  you've  made  me  what  I  am. 
You  've  got  my  last  sixpence,  and  now  you  tell  me  to  go 
and  earn  another,  to  give  to  you.  (Turning  round  and 
speaking  to  himself.)  My  poor,  poor  children,  I  wish  I 
could  stop,  for  your  sakes  ;  but  I  can 't ;  it 's  no  use. 

Phillips — No  more  of  your  blarney.     Get  out,  I  say ! 

Peters — Not  a  step  without  a  drink ;  I  mu^t  have  it ! 

Phillips  —  Well,  you  wont,  you  know.  (Starting 
toward  him.)  I  've  heard  enough  of  your  lip  for  one  day. 
Go !     You  wont  get  a  drink  here ! 

Peters — (Advances  a  step  and  draws  a  pistol) — Take 
care !  do  n't  you  touch  me,  sir  !  I  've  come  prepared  for 
you  to-day ;  you  've  got  my  last  cent,  now  a  drink  or  your 
life! 

Phillips — (Runs  behind  counter) — Murder  ! 

Enter  Policeman  No.  1.  Peters  discharges  the  pistol 
at  him,  but  misses.  Enter  Policeman  No.  2,  from 
behind,  and  seizes  him. 

Policeman  No.  2 — Not  a  very  good  marksman,  but 
you  're  caught  in  the  act,  and  now  you  may  go  with  us. 
Give  me  your  firearms. 

[Peters  struggles,  bid  the  pistol  is  wrenched  from  his 
hand  by  Policeman  No.  1,  and  he  is  led,  still 
struggling,  from  the  stage,  followed  by  Phillips, 
who  is  assisting  the  Policemen.^ 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  I4l 

Phillips — (  Walks  slowly  back,  soliloquizing) — Well, 
it's  more  luck  than  wit  that  I  'm  alive!  Supposing  that 
scoundrel  had  shot  mc.  It's  lucky  that  the  police  were  so 
near  at  hand  ;  but  I  declare,  he's  desperate.  I'm  glad  he 
is  in  safe  keeping;  there's  no  knowing  what  he  might  do 
if  he  's  allowed  to  run  loose.  (jS'eafe  himself  in  a  chair, 
places  his  feet  on  the  top  of  a  ivhiskey-barrel,  tips  his  hat  to 
one  side  of  his  head,  and  takes  tip  a  newspaper.  While 
he  is  reading  a  child  enters;  he  looks  up  and  says :)  There 
comes  one  of  his  brats  now.  I  was  in  hopes  I  had  got  rid 
of  the  whole  crew,  but  they  needn't  come  here,  sniveling 
and  begging.  Zounds !  she  looks  rough,  though.  I  do 
feel  kind  o'  sorry  for  her,  anyhow. 

Enter  Blanche,  who  walks  up  before  him,  and  sings. 

Blanche — Please,  Mr.  Barkeeper,  has  father  been  here  7 
He's  not  been  at  home  for  the  day, 
'Tis  now  almost  midnight,  and  mother's  in  fear 
Some  accident  keeps  him  away. 

Phillips — (Sings) — No,  no,  little  stranger;  or  yes,  he's  been 
here, 
Some  officers  took  him  away. 
He 's  gone  to  the  lock-up,  I  'm  sorry,  my  dear, 
He 's  done  something  wicked,  they  say. 

Blanche — {Sings) — Oh !  't  was  not  my  father,  who  did  the  bad 
deed, 
'Twas  drinking  that  maddened  his  brain, 
Oh  I  let  hitii  go  hodic  to  dear  mother,  I  plead, 
I'm  sure  lie  '11  not  touch  it  again  ! 

{Curtain  falls  and  Blanche  sings  again  :) 

Blanche — Pleasc,  Mist/ir  Policoman,  my  father  is  lost, 
A  man  says  you  took  him  away, 

Oh  I  can 't  he  go  home,  sir;  and  what  will  it  co8<» 
If  mother  will  send  you  the  pay  ? 


142  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Policeman  No.  1 — (Sings) — Oh,  no,  little  pleader,  yom 

father  can 't  go  ! 
We  put  him  in  prison,  to-day, 
Go  home  to  your  mother,  and  quick  let  her  know, 
What 's  keeping  your  fether  away. 
Blanche — (^Sings) — Oh !  't  was  not  my  father,  etc. 

[  Curtain.'] 

Scene  II. — Bolt,  the  Jailer,  armed,  walking  slowly  back  and  forth 

across  the  stage. 

Enter  Blanche. 

Blanche — (Sings) — Please,  sir,  Mister  Jailer,  please  let  me 
go  in. 

They  say  that  my  father 's  inside, 
I  scarcely  can  tell  how  unhappy  we  've  been. 

We  could  not  feel  worse,  had  he  died. 
Please,  sir,  it  was  drinking  that  made  him  do  wrong, 

I  'm  sure,  sir,  he  will  drink  no  more, 
Oh,  just  a  few  minutes,  a  minute 's  not  long, — 

But  no  one  wUl  open  the  door. 

(Turns  to  go  away,  singing  low  and  mournfully'^ 
Oh !  't  was  not  my  father,  etc. 

[Bolt  takes  a  seat  at  the  door  where  the  prison  is  sup- 
posed to  fee.] 

Enter  Faith,  Hope  and  Charity  from  different  parts 
of  the  stage.     They  join  hands. 

Charity — Welcome,  sweet  sisters,  my  helpers  in  every 
good  and  noble  work.  We  've  met  again  on  a  mission  of 
love.  What  shall  we  do  first  to  best  promote  our 
object? 

Hope — We  '11  hope  and  pray. 

Faith— We'll  trust  in  God. 

Charity — Heaven  help  us,  then;  thou,  sweet  Hope, 
shall  be  my  guiding  star;  and  thou,  dear  Faith,  my 
anchor;  and  mine  shall  be  the  hand  to  lift  our  fallen 


STERLING  DIALOGUES  143 

brother,  and  save  him  fi-om  ruin ;  let  us  go.  ( They  ad- 
vance toward  Bolt,  and  Charity  hands  him  a  paper.) 
Mr.  Jailer,  here  is  a  letter  of  pardon  from  the  authorities, 
will  you  release  our  brother? 

Bolt — {Reads  it,  and  then  says) — Can  it  be  possible, 
that  the  wretched  vagabond,  shut  up  iu  this  dungeon,  is 
your  brother? 

Charity — We  are  sisters  to  all  mankind.  There  is 
none  so  low  as  to  be  beneath  our  notice,  and  none  so  de- 
graded as  to  deserve  our  scorn.  When  a  poor,  erring 
mortal  has  advanced  far  down  the  broad  road  to  ruin, 
and  a  world  joins  its  forces  to  dash  him  over  the  brink  of 
destruction,  then  it  is  our  mission  to  win  him  back,  set 
him  on  an  equal  footing  with  us,  and  teach  him  the  way 
to  Heaven. 

Bolt — Yours  is  a  good  mission,  friends ;  you  have  my 
iest  wishes  for  your  success.  Wait  here,  and  I  will  bring 
the  prisoner. 

[  Goes  and  brings  the  prisoner  with  him,  dragging  his 
chains.'] 

Charity — Loose  him,  and  let  him  go. 

Bolt — (Looses  him,  and  saijs) — There,  go!  you're  free 
again,  thanks  to  the  efforts  of  these  friends,  in  your  be- 
half. May  you  be  a  better  man  for  their  sake,  and  the 
sake  of  your  family.  (  Throws  off  the  chaim.) 

Peters — How  can  I  ever  thank  you  for  your  kind- 
ness, my  unknown  benefactors? 

Faith — Not  so  unknown  as  you  suppose.  Our  good 
sister,  Charity,  has  been  a  frequent  visitor  to  your  wretched 
home. 

Peters — Don't  speak  of  my  home,  I  beg  of  you.  {Sits 
dniim  and  leans  his  head  in  his  hands,  speaking  remorse- 
fvlfy.)  I  had  a  home  once,  and  love  and  respect ;  but  I 
have  none   now ;    and   rum   has  been  my  ruin.     I  had 


144  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

friends  once,  but  I  have  none  now ;  nobody  to  help  me 
reform,  if  I  wished. 

Hope — Do  you  remember,  when  poor  trusting  Faith 
and  trembling  Hope  were  thrust  outside  your  doors? 

Peters — Yes,  yes,  I  remember !  My  poor  wife  and 
children,  how  they  have  suffered. 

Charity — Yes,  brother,  they  have  suffered,  and  even 
now  they  are  weeping  for  you,  hoping,  trusting  that  you 
will  yet  be  an  honor  to  yourself  and  them. 

Peters — I  can  not!  that  never  can  be!  I'm  dis- 
graced and  ruined  !  I  'm  driven  from  good  society,  and 
shunned  by  everybody.  No,  no!  it's  too  late  now! 
{Speaks  ivipatiently.)  Leave  me  alone,  there's  no  use, 
I  'm  a  lost  man ! 

Charity  —  (Advances,  and  lays  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder) — Brother,  don't  talk  thus,  I  pray  you.  I  know 
the  world  is  harsh  ;  temptation  will  follow  you,  slander 
will  assail  you,  pride  and  malice  will  trample  upon  you, 
society  will  shun  you ;  but  do  n't  say  you  have  no  friends. 
Look  up,  and  behold  the  three  angels,  who  will  ever  attend 
you  in  your  hours  of  darkest  trials. 

Peters — (Looks  up,  hastily) — Faith  !  Hope !  Charity ! 
but  the  greatest  of  these  is  Charity.  Are  these,  then,  my 
friends,  these,  angels  in  disguise  ?  (  Takes  an  empty  bottle 
from  his  pocket,  holds  it  up,  and  looks  at  it ;  talking  as  if 
addressing  it.)  I  had  thought  that  this  was  all  the  friend 
I  had ;  but,  instead  of  a  friend,  thou  hast  been  but  the 
lurking-place  of  a  demon.  Never  again  shalt  thou  de- 
ceive me.  What  care  I  now  for  your  temptations !  I 
have  friends,  true  friends,  the  angels  of  Faith,  Hope,  and 
Charity  ;  and  they  have  saved  me.  (Rises  quickly,  dashes 
the  bottle  upon  the  floor,  crushing  it  to  pieces,  and  shouts 
loudly ;)     Saved,  saved  at  last ! 

[  CurtainJ] 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  145 

Scene  III.— Tableau.— Peters  reformed. 

The  back  part  of  the  stage  should  be  hidden  from  the 
audience,  by  a  curtain  which  opens  in  the  center.  This 
can  easily  be  arranged  according  to  taste  or  convenience. 
Upon  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  Faith  and  Charity  are 
discovered  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  central  opening  of 
the  curtain,  a  few  feet  from  each  other,  with  their  right  and 
left  arms  extended  and  grasping  the  curtain,  as  if  about 
to  draw  it  apart  and  open.  Hope  is  discovered  a  few  feet 
in  advance,  and  midway  between  them,  with  the  fore-finger 
of  her  right  hand  to  her  lips,  as  if  invoking  silence. 
While  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  is  played  or  sung,  very 
softly,  in  the  distance,  Hope  slowly  moves  her  finger 
from  her  lips,  and  points  to  the  scene  which  is  being  re- 
vealed, as  Faith  and  Charity  gradually  draw  the  cur- 
tain open,  disclosing  Peters,  his  wife  and  Blanche 
seated  around  the  supper-table,  Peters  in  the  act  of  ask- 
ing a  blessing  upon  the  meal. 

[  Curtain.'] 


^ 


TWO  WAYS  OF  TELLING  THE   SAME  THING. 


CHARACTERS :— Fred  Scott,  "I  ,    „  ^„„„ 
NedSnoosy,)*^^^''^'- 

Scene. — A  platform.     Fred  Scott  steps  out  as  if  to  make  a  speech. 

Fred — I  want  to  tell  you   all   about  the  walk  I  took 

with  Ned, 
While  all  you  lazy  people  here  were  sound  asleep  in  b'd. 
I   woke  bofon;  'twas  hanlly  light,  and  quickly  rose  aiil 

dresHod, 
The  day  was  breaking  in  the  East,  the  moon  shone  in  the 

West. 


146  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

I  called   to  Ned ;  called  once,  called   twice,  before  lie 

scaambled  down, 
And  soon  we  two  with  hurrying  steps  had  left  the  dozing 

town. 
And  then  I  saw  a  splendid  sight!     The  East  was  all 

aglow, 
With  pink-edged  purple  clouds,  and  streaks  of  blue  and 

gold  below. 
And  then  the  sun  arose,  a  great  and  glowing  ball  of  red, 
From  out  a  heap  of  crimson  clouds,  like  cushions  of  a 

bed  ; 
He  gleamed  across  the  sky,  the  earth  was  flushed  with 

ruddy  light. 
On  every  leaf  and  blade  of  grass  were  diamonds  flashing 

bright. 
Long  shadows  stretched  along  the  ground,  each  leaf  in 

quivering  play. 
And  sunlight  warmed  and  lighted  up  where  all  was  cold 

and  grey. 
I  see  you  smile  at  my  big  words;  I  say  you  needn't 

laugh. 
For  of  the  splendid  sight  I  saw,  I  have  not  told  you 

half. 

Ned — (Calls  out  from  the  audience) — I  don't  believe 
your  yarn ! 

Feed — You  don't,  you  ugly,  grinning  elf! 

Just  you  get  up  here  on  the  stage  and  tell  the  thing 

yourself ! 

Enter  Ned. 

Ned — Look  here,  what's  that  you're  going  on  about, 
you  stupid  fellow  ? 
The  sun  was  bright,  the  shadows  long,  the  sky  was  red 
and  yellow  ? 


STERLING    DTAIvOGUEvS  141 

Well,  what  of  it  ?     A  patch  of  red  is  no  such  wondrous 

sight 
That,  just, to  see  jt  one_ should  wake  in  the  middle  of  the 

ui'rlit.  {To  the  a7idience.) 

I  'm  out  of  jiatieuce  with  this  goose,  (I  will  not  call  him 

fool, 
Because,   I'm    sorry    to    confess,    he    stands    ahead   at 

school,) 
But  then  he  has  such  curious  ways  I  can  not  well  make 

out, 
I  did  not  see  such  splendid  things  to  gabble  so  about. 
I  saw  the  sun  rise,  too,  this  morning.     What  of  that  ? 

I  dare 
To  say  'twould  have  risen  all  the  same  if  I  had  not  been 

there. 
To  tell  the  truth,  it  was  so  early  I  could  hardly  keep  - 
JVIy  eyes  from  shutting  up,  and  I  was  almost  half  asleep. 
And  then  the  air  was  damp  and  chilly ;  one  might  know 

'twould  be 
At  such  an  early  liour,  and  I  was  shivering  dreadfully. 
And  then  those  diamonds  bright  of  his — those  penetrating 

dews, 
I[ad  wet  my  trowsers  to  my  knees,  and  soaked  quite 

through  my  shoes. 
Now  I  have  this  advice  to  give  :  I  pray  you  all  take 

warning, 
And  never  be  caught  out  of  bed  on  such  a  wretched 

morning,  r 

Fred— O  Ned ! 

Ned— Yes,  Fred, 
It  wdJi  a  wretched  morning,  those  aro  tli(!  words  I  said  ; 
I'll  8ti(  k  to  them,  and  call  them  true,  though  you  should 
kill  me  dead. 


148  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

So  ■where 's   the  use  of  quarreling?     You  see  we   can't 

agree.  (//i  unison.) 

[  Ned — It  was  a  wretched  morning  as  ever  I  did  see. 
1  Fred — It  was  a  splendid  morning  as  ever  I  did  see. 

{To  the  audience.) 
Now  if  this  fellow  hadn't  stopped  me  with  his  foolish 

talk, 
I  would  have  told  you  more  about  our  very  pleasant  walk. 
The  roosters  crowing  near  and  far  replied  to  one  another, 
And  here  and   there  we  came  across  a  careful  old  hen- 
mother, 
Who  clucked  and  scratched  for  her  young  brood  thus 

early  in  the  morn. 
And  in  a  field  we  saw  some  ducks  nip  off  the  growing 

corn. 
The  men  came  out  to  feed  their  stock,  the  maids  to  milk 

the  cows. 
We  watched  the  blue  smoke  curling  up  from  out  each 

wayside  house. 
Oh,  all  the  world  was  waking  up — each  pig,  and  colt  and 

calf, 
I  wanted  just  to  run,  and  hop,  and  jump,  and  sing  and 

laugh, 
Turn  summersaults,  and  fences  climb  ;  but  Ned  here  was 

so  lazy — 

Ned — So   tired   you   mean!     You  was   so   brisk   you 

almost  set  me  crazy. 
You  know  I  was  so  tired  I  scarce  could  drag  myself 

along, 
And  still  you  wanted  me  to  run,  and  climb,  and  sing  a 

song; 
Or  else  you  wanted  me  to  stay  and  see  an  ugly  daisy, 
Or  watch  a  stupid  bumble-bee  a  humming  round  a  flower. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  14J- 

Although  I  begged  you  hard  to  stop  and  rest  for  half  an 
hour. 

I  never  saw  a  boy  so  wild  about  the;  birds  and  things, 

As  though  /  knew  or  cared  what  kind  of  song  a  cat- 
bird sings  ! 

I  only  know  I  saw  one  sitting  on  a  fence  we  passed. 

And  I  thought,  "  Now  there 's  a  chance  for  a  little  fun  at 
last." 

And  so  I  stopped  and  found  a  stone  at  the  ugly  bird  to 
fling, 

In  hopes,  if  I  could  not  kill  it  quite,  perhaps  I'd  break  its 
wing ; 

But  then  it  up  and  flew  away,  the  good-for-nothing  thing! 

Then  you  wanted  even  to  see  a  rose,  'twas  such  a  pretty 
blue— 

Frei>— ONedl 

Ned— 'T is  true! 

Fred — 'Twas  red. 

Ned — 'T  was  blue, 
But  as  for  that  I  do  not  care !     I  'm  sure  I  never  knew 
"Whether  a  rose  was  red  or  white  or  black  or  green  or 

blue. 
You  see  I  'm  not  so  great  a  goose  about  a  flower  as  you  ! 

Fred — (To  the  audience) — You  hear  him!  Did  you 
ever  know  a  boy  that  so  lacked  sense? 

He  says  he  tried  to  kill  a  bird  that  sat  upon  the  fence. 

I  know  he  caught  the  butterflies  and  pinned  them  on  hia 
hat, 

And  kicked  a  little  dog,  and  tried  to  set  hira  on  a  cat. 

But  still  we  had  a  splendid  time — 

Ned —  Speak  for  yourself,  I  pray  I 


1 50  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Fred — I  gathered  all  the  flowers  \  found  in  fields 
along  our  way, 
You  uever  saw  such  pretty  flowers — 

Ned —  I  uever  will  again 

If  I  must  rise  at  four  o'clock  to  see  them ;  that  is  plain  ! 

Fred — I  filled  a  bottle  full  of  bugs  with  green  and 
golden  wings — 

Ned — (To  the  audience) — I  never  saw  a  boy  so  wild 

about  his  bugs  and  things  ! 
There 's  one  thing  that  I  soon  found  out ;  that  is,  that 

bees  have  stings. 
You  see,  I  tried — 

Fred — (Jb  the  audience) — He  caught  a  bee  and  shut 

it  in  a  flower, 
And  kept  it  close  there  buzzing  loud  for  nearly  half  an 

hour; 
But  when  he  tried  to  look  at  it,  the  poor  thing  got  away. 
And  buzzing  round,  it  made  him  for  his  cruel  cunning 

pay. 
It  stung  his  hand — 

Ned —       The  mean  old  thing !     I  feel  it  smarting  yet. 
When  I  can  catch  another  bee,  that  sting  I  sha'  n't  forget. 

Fred — {To  the  audience) — But  then  I  haven't  told 
you  half  the  pleasure  that  I  found  ; 
I  saw  a  buzzard  in  the  sky  go  sailing  round  and  round. 
I  saw  the  crows  go  cawing  past,  a  thousand  crows  or  more  ; 
I'm  sure  I  never  saw  so  many  crows  at  once  before. 
A  hundred  birds  sang  in  the  trees,  each  one  a  different 

tune ; 
The  nicest  time  in  all  the  year  is  just  this  month  of  June  I 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  15 1 

We  found  some  berries  hidden  in  the  grass,  so  nice  and 

red, 
We  stopped  to  pick  and  eat  them — 

Ned —  Tell  the  whole  now,  Master  Fred, 

How  as  I  tried  to  climb  the  fence  n^y  pantaloons  I  tore, 
And  there  you  stood  and  laughed,  while  I — 

Fred — You  tugged  and  almost  swore, 
And  every  time  I  think  of  it  I  have  to  laugh  the  more. 

Ned — And  then  what  were  the  berries  worth,  so  small, 
unripe  and  sour ! 
And  I  so  hungry,  too,  because  'twas  past  the  breakfasl 
hour! 

Fred — ( To  the  audience)^—!  found  a  bird's  nost  in  a 

bush  !     Oh,  such  a  cunning  sight ! 
It  had  four  little  eggs  in  it,  all  speckled  brown  and  white. 
I  called  to  Ned  to  come  and  see,  and  then — what  will  you 

say? 
He  wanted  to  destroy  the  nest  and  take  the  eggs  away  ! 
And  then — why — I — 

Ned —  You  need  n't  brag,  you  bully !     If  I  let 

You  whip  me  once,  it  doesn't  mean  I  shall  not  pay  you 

yet, 

When  I  am  not  so  sleepy  quite  ;  I  .shall  not  let  it  pass  ; 
I  can  whip  you  any  day  I  try,  if  you  are  first  in  the  class. 

Fred— We'll   see,   young   man!     (To   the   audience.) 
I  haven't  time  to  tell  you  any  more. 
For  I'm  so  hungry  I  mn  scarcely  stand  upon  the  floor. 
I've  not  had  breakfast  yet;  I  say,  I  think  there's  nothing 

cfuite 
So  good  as  a  morning  walk  to  give  a  boy  an  apjKitite. 


152  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Ned — O  dear !     I  'm  tired  out,  I  'm  not  so  big  a  dunce 
as  Fred ; 
And  when  1  get  my  breakfast  done  I  'm  going  back  to 
bed.  [Exit  Ned. 

Fred — Well,  let  him  go,  and  yawn  and  snooze.     I 
wont  be  called  a  fool, 
And  when  I  get  my  breakfast  done  ,I'm  going  straight  to 
school. 

[  Gurtain.l 


AUNT  DEBBY'S  SPECULATION. 


CHAEACTERS :— Aunt  Debby  Pinchum. 
Tom,  the  hired  Man. 
Olivb,  Aunt  Debby's  Niece. 
Keene,  a  Swindler. 


Scene  I. — Aunt  Debby's  sitting-room.    Aunt  Debby  seated 

knitting. 

Enter  Tom. 

Tom — Here's  the  price  for  them  'ere  chickens,  marm, 
twenty-two  cents  a  pound,  just  seventy-three  pounds, 
comes  to  sixteen  dollars  and  six  cents. 

Aunt  Debby — (  Clutching  the  money) — Dear  me,  Tom, 
couldn't  you  have  got  another  cent  a  pound,  by  trying 
hard  ?  'pears  to  me  men  are  mighty  shiftless  now-a-days, 
Now,  when  I  druv  to  market  in  my  younger  days,  nobody 
could  get  the  start  of  me  in  prices. 

Tom — I  guess  it  was  a  high  day.  Miss  Pinchum,  when 
you  got  ten  cents  a  pound  for  your  poultry.  Now  it's 
twenty-two,  and  you  want  twenty-three.  Folks  are  never 
satisfied. 

Aunt  Debby — But  consider  how  living  has  gone  up, 
just  look  at  the  price  of  chickens'  feed. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  152 

Tom — (Midtering  to  hinwelf  as  he  goes  out) — Livin' 
hasn't  ris  much  iu  this  i)liice,  as  my  stomach  can  testify. 
I  declare  I  wont  stay  to  be  starved  out  in  this  style. 

(  Goes  out.) 

Aunt  Debby — (Counting  her  money) — Well,  this  isn't 
so  bad.  It  is  a  dollar  and  forty-six  cents  more  than  I  ex- 
pected. {StaHing  suddenly.)  0\\,ih.2it  t\\M\  {Runs  to  the 
door  and  screatns  :)  Tom,  Tom  ! 

Enter  Tom. 
Tom — "Well,  now,  what 's  to  pay  ?    One  would  think  the 
house  was  a-fire. 

Aunt  Debby — Where's  that  six  cents? 
Tom — Well  now  I  did  forget  that.     (Draws  out  an  old 
leathern  wallet.)   Here  it  is,  and  much  good  may  it  do  you, 

lExit  Tom. 

[Aunt  Debby  goes  to  a  box  in  the  corner,  and  takes 

out  an  old  black  stocking.      She  seats  herself,  takes 

out  a  roll  of  bills,  and  pours  some  silver  pieces  in 

her  lap."] 

Aunt   Debby  —  Twenty-five,   fifty,    seventy-five,   one 

hundred.     All  as  good  as  gold.     It's  time  to  send  these 

down  to  the  bank-safe  along  with  the  rest,  but  it's  such  a 

comfort  to  have  a  little  by  a  body, 

(  Chinks  the  silver  pieces  and  smiles.) 

Enter  Oi.i\B.     Aunt  Debb-y  throws  her  apron  over  the 
money. 

Olive — Oh,  don't  mind  me,  Aunt  Debby.  I  sha'n't 
steal,  if  I  do  want  some  money  j)rctty  bad. 

Aunt  Debby — (Peevishly) — Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say,  there's 
something  you  are  a  wanting  now.  It 's  just  money,  money 
all  the  time. 

Olive — But  how  can  I  tstudy,  Aunt  Debby,  without 
books?    I've  borrowed  and  borrowed  until  I  am  ashamed 


154  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

of  myself.  I  must  have  a  new  History  now,  or  give  up 
the  study.  I  shall  never  be  prepared  for  a  teacher  at 
this  rate. 

Aunt  Debby — Well,  I  do  think,  of  all  schools  I  ever 
heard  of,  yours  is  the  most  expensivest.  It's  just  expense 
upon  expense,  new  books  and  new  fol-da-rols  all  the  time. 
Now  when  I  went  to  school  we  was  well  off  with  our  spellin' 
books  and  English  Readers  and  samplers,  and  a  skein  of 
blue  cotton  thread  to  work  with.  Them  girls  that  hud  a  skein 
of  red  and  green  sewing  silk  besides,  were  counted  rich. 

Olive — Well,  times  have  changed,  auutie.  They  never 
ask  for  our  samplers  now,  when  we  apply  for  a  school. 
But  will  you  not  let  me  have  the  dollar  for  the  History 
out  of  that  lapful  of  money  I  saw  you  counting  when  I 
came  in  ? 

Aunt  Debby — (  Gathering  her  apron  a  little  closer) — 
You  must  think  of  my  expenses,  child.  Just  see  what  it 
costs  to  keep  up  this  place.  Look  at  the  price  of  chick- 
ens' feed,  and  see  how  much  that  ungrateful  Tom  eats 
every  time  he  sits  down  to  the  table.  It's  enough  to  break 
a  bank. 

Olive — But  see  what  the  place  brings  you  in,  auntie, 
and  how  valuable  Tom  is  to  you.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
he  didn't  stay  long,  unless  you  give  hi.a  better  fare.  But 
about  the  book,  auntie,  do  please  now  get  it  for  me;  just 
see  how  I  patch  and  save  my  dresses  so  as  to  help  to  get 
an  education. 

Aunt  Debby — Will  you  go  without  butter  till  you  pay 
me  back  ? 

Olive — I  will  as  soon  as  I  can  have  coffee  again. 
But  I  can't  well  do  without  both,  as  bread  and  water 
would  be  dry  living  for  breakfast  and  supper.  Let's  see ; 
I  have  gone  without  coffee  for  two  weeks  now.  I  believe 
you  called  it  two  cents  a  day.      That  makes  twenty-eight 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  155 

cents.  It  will  take  me  three  weeks  more  to  pay  for  m 
Algebra.  Then  I  will  begin  on  the  butter.  But  it  is  a 
hard  way  to  get  an  education  to  starve  one's  self  into  it. 
■  Aunt  Debby— I'll  risk  its  hurting  you  any,  to  go 
without  butter  and  coifee.  They  aint  good  for  young  folks. 
There's  nothing  better  for  them  than  good  plain  mush  and 
skimmed  milk,  and  it's  all  foolishness  in  you  to  say  you 
can't  eat  it.  You'd  like  it  well  enough  if  you'd  try  it 
steady  for  a  spell.  Well,  I  suppose  I  shan't  have  a 
minute's  peace  until  that  book  is  got,  so  take  your  dollar 
and  be  off,  but  mind  you've  got  to  pay  me  back  eveiy 
cent.  And  now  don't  you  let  me  hear  another  woid 
about  money  again  this  year. 

{Gives  her  a  dollar,  gathers  up  her  apron  and  goes  out.) 
Olive — I  coidd  not  thank  her,  glad  as  I  am  to  get  the 
book.  Oh,  what  a  wretched  way  to  live !  How  can  I 
l)ear  it?  How  bitter  to  be  dependent.  But  courage  for 
only  one  year  more,  then  I  hope  to  be  free  from  such 
fetters.  [Exit  Olive. 

[  Curtain.^ 

Scene  II. — Aunt  Debby,  spectacles  on,  seated  at  a  table,  reading  a 
letter ;  various  papers  scattered  over  it. 

Aunt  Debby — Well,  this  beats  all  creation.  I  never 
saw  nor  heard  of  this  chap,  who  signs  himself  St.  John  A. 
Goldsmith  ;  but  here  he  writes  me  a  letter  saying  I  have 
drawn  a  prize  of  a  thousand  dollars,  in  a  lottery  away  ofi' 
in  Kcntufky.  He  says  I  musn't  tell  any  body  about  it 
But  I  must  send  him  fifty  dollars  to  get  five  hundred  of 
my  prize  money,  or  a  hundred  dolhirs  to  get  the  whole 
thousand.  I  can't  just  see  through  it,  l)iit  as  far  as  I  can 
learn  the  hundred  dollars  pays  for  my  ticket,  which  is  but 
reasonable  when  they  {)ay  you  back  a  thousand.  \  liave 
often  thought  what  an  easy  way  it  was  to  make  money, 


156  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

tmd  here  it  comes  right  to  my  door.  I  've  a  great  mind 
to  tell  Olive.  She'd  never  tell,  I  know,  and  she  could 
write  my  letter  for  me,  she 's  such  a  good  penman.  {Steps 
to  the  door  and  calls :)     Olive,  Olive ! 

Olive — (Entering  hastily,  her  sleeves  rolled  up) — What 
is  it,  auntie?  You  look  excited.  Has  anything  hap- 
pened ? 

Aunt  Debby — Jest  sit  down,  Olive,  and  read  that 
letter  and  them  papers,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of 
them. 

[Olive  reads.     TJie  old  lady  rubs  her  glasses,  and, 
watches  her  intently.'] 

Olive — It's  a  precious  mess  of  nonsense,  auntie,  and 
you  would  never  see  your  money  again  if  you  were 
foolish  enough  to  send  it.  Just  look  at  the  morals  of  the 
man.  He  directs  you  to  date  your  letter  a  month  back, 
and  says  he  will  alter  the  post-mark  to  correspond,  so  as  to 
deceive  the  "  Board  of  Trustees."  Now  if  he  would  de- 
ceive them,  do  you  think  he  would  hesitate  much  to 
deceive  you  ?  Depend  upon  it,  he  is  the  "  Board  "  himself, 
unless  he  has  an  accomplice  or  two  in  his  swindling  op- 
erations. I  have  often  heard  of  such  things  before.  So  I 
beg  of  you,  auntie,  don't  have  any  thing  to  do  with  it. 
I  must  make  up  my  corn  bread  now ;  and  if  you  say  so,  I 
will  light  my  fire  with  these  papers. 

Aunt  Debby — No,  no ;  I  will  save  them  for  something 
else.  One  side  is  good  white  paper.  {Exit  Olive.)  Now 
that  is  the  most  tantalizing  girl  I  ever  seen  in  my  life. 
Here  she  must  come  in  and  spoil  all  my  pretty  calcula- 
tions. But  never  mind  ;  I  '11  write  the  man  a  letter  my- 
self, and  just  ask  if  he  is  certain  sure  that  there's  no 
mistake  about  it,  and  that  I'll  surely  get  my  money,  and 
if  it  is  all  right  I'll  send,  no  matter  what  Olive  says.  I'll 
just  write  to-night,  and  send  it  off  in  the  evening-mail. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  15 » 

It  Will  go  to  New  York  to-night,  and  he  can  answer  by  to- 
morrow, if  he  has  a  mind  to.  I  wont  tell  Olive  a  word 
though,  about  it.  So  I  must  write  quick  while  she  is  get- 
ting supper.  (  Takes  down  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  writes, 
folds  and  directs  the  letter.)  Now  I'll  just  slip  out  to  the 
post-office,  and  if  Olive  asks  me  where  I've  been,  I'll  tell 
her  I  went  to  the  store  for  a  skein  of  thread.  [Exit. 

[  Ourtain.'] 


Scene  III. — Aunt  Debby,  seated,  knitting. 

Aunt  Debby — I  was  so  disappointed,  not  to  get  a  letter 
to-day ;  but  I  think  it  will  certainly  come  to-morrow. 
Maybe  he  was  'fronted  'cause  I  did  n't  send  along  the 
money  at  first,  and  wont  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
me.  It  'ri  all  that  girl's  fault.  I  should  never  have  thought 
of  misdoubting  him,  if  she  had  n't  put  me  up  to  it.  (Eap 
at  the  door.)  Massy  sakes  !  who  is  that  knocking  at  the 
door?  (Opens  the  door.) 

\_Enter  Keene,  heavy  whiskers,  very  dignified,  solemn 
manner. '\ 

Aunt  Debby — (Courtesying) — Will  you  walk  in,  sir? 

Keene  —  (Bowing  low,  hat  in  hand)  —  Thank  you, 
madam.  ( Walks  in.  Aunt  Debby  giving  him  a  seat.) 
You  are  probably  surprised,  my  dear  madam,  at  seeing 
a  stranger  in  your  house ;  but  as  I  was  passing  through 
your  beautiful  village,  I  thought  I  would  call  on  you  a 
few  moments.  My  name  is  St.  John  A.  Goldsmith. 
[Bowing  and  smiling.)  I  believe  it  is  not  quite  unfamiliar 
to  you. 

Aunt  Debby — Land  sakes!  wlio'd  'vo  thought  it! 
Excuse  me,  Mr.  Goldsmith,  but  you  have  put  me  quite 
in  a  flutter. 


158  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Keene — No  occasion  for  it  at  all,  my  dear  madam ;  ] 
thought  you  hardly  understood  the  matter  with  regard 
to  which  I  addressed  you ;  and  since  I  was  riding  along 
in  the  cars,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  you  would  take 
more  interest  in  a  mining  company  I  am  interested  in 
than  in  the  lottery.  I  think  you  mentioned  you  were 
alone,  no  man  to  manage  your  affairs.  Your  husband  is 
dead,  I  suppose  ?  (^Bowing  respectfully.) 

AuKT  Debby  —  {Simpering')  —  Ahem  —  no,  sir, — I— . 
ahem,  I  never  married. 

Keene — Indeed  !  I  am  very  much  surprised.  I  mis- 
took you  for  a  young  widow.  But  never  mind  my  blun- 
ders. I  am  a  very  blundering  man,  at  the  best.  As  I 
was  saying,  you  can  dispose  of  your  property  as  you  st'e 
fit,  having  no  one  to  dictate  to  you  ;  and  this  mining  coiia- 
pany  declares  a  dividend  of  fifty  per  cent,  a  month.  Ju,3t 
imagine  how  a  few  hundreds,  or  thousands,  would  double 
themselves,  over  and  over,  every  year,  in  that  company. 
And  all  you  have  to  do,  is  to  take  stock  in  it.  You  do 
not  have  to  turn  your  hand  to  work.  You  could  soon  be 
the  richest  lady  in  the  land,  and  ride  in  a  golden  coach, 
with  gold-mounted  harness  on  your  horses.  You  mif^ht 
build  you  a  palace  which  would  be  the  pride  of  the  whole 
country.  The  shares,  as  you  will  see  by  the  prospectus, 
are  fifty  dollars  each.  The  capital  of  the  company  is  four 
millions ;  so  you  see  you  are  perfectly  secure,  perfectly. 
Now,  if  you  would  like  to  invest  a  little  in  this,  I  am  wil- 
ling to  serve  you.  Indeed,  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so, 
though  I  am  exceedingly  hurried  and  pressed  with  busi- 
ues-s,  and  seldom  stop  in  such  small  towns.  Indeed,  I 
may  say,  I  called  this  evening  expressly  to  accommodate 
you ;  and  my  time  is  very  precious,  very,  indeed. 

(Looks  at  his  watch.) 
Aunt  Debby — I  am  sure  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 


STERLING   DIALOGTTES  159 

you  ;  but  the  thing  is  so  suddeu-like ;  could  n't  you  give 
me  a  little  time  to  think  about  it,  and  talk  with  my 
friends  ? 

Keene — (Buttoning  his  coat,  with  an  offended  air) — I 
fear  I  have  been  deceived  in  you,  madam  ;  and  I  will 
not  trou])]e  you  further.  (Fick)i  vp  his  hat.)  What  I 
have  said  has  been  in  the  strictest  confidence,  and  from  a 
sincere  desire  to  serve  you.  I  might  lose  my  position  as 
Director,  if  it  should  be  known ;  and  as  you  decline  my 
offer,  I  can  only  beg  you  will  not  mention  it. 

{Arises,  as  if  to  go.) 

AuxT  Debby — (Much  agitated) — But  I  did  n't  say  I 
declined.  Please,  Mr.  Goldsmith,  take  a  chair  again ;  I 
didn't  pertend  to  say  I  wouldn't  invest;  I  only  wanted 
to  think  over  it.  (Keeke  takes  his  seat,  still  holding  his 
hat.)  But  if  you  think  there 's  no  mistake,  I  do  n't  mind 
putting  in  a  little  in  the  business.  There's  about  four 
hundred  in  the  bank,  and  I  have  another  hundred  and 
odd  about  me.  Now,  would  you  advise  me  to  put  in  all, 
or  only  half? 

Keexe — (Brightening  wp) — My  dear  madam,  put  in 
only  half,  if  you  see  fit;  but  mark  my  words,  you'll  be 
sorry  you  didn't  put  in  the  whole,  when  your  dividends 
come  piling  in  so  fast  every  month. 

Aunt  Debby — Well,  Mr.  Goldsmith,  would  you  mind 
waiting  here  a  few  minutes,  till  I  get  my  money?  It's 
after  bank  hours,  but  Mr.  Edmonds  is  my  nciglibor,  and 
I  know  he'll  oblige  me.     It  is  only  a  step  over  there. 

Keenio — Certainly,  certainly,  madam,  oidy  be  sure  and 
remember  my  caution  about  mentioning  this  matter  to 
!uiy  one,  or  I  drop  the  whole  concern. 

AuxT  Debby — Certain,  certain  ;  I  sha'n't  begone  but 
a  minute.  [Exit. 

Keene  —  (Getting  up  and  going  to  a  drawer)  —  I  won- 


160  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

der  what  the  old  girl  has  stowed  away  here.  Two  silver 
spoons,  as  sure  as  I  live !  Here  they  go  into  the  silver 
mine.  {Drops  them  into  his  pocket,  chuckling  arid  laugh- 
ing  softly.)  These  pocket  handkerchiefs  will  be  useful ; 
they  may  follow.  What  a  mean  old  thing  she  must  be ! 
Her  bureaus  are  absolutely  not  worth  picking?  I  wish  I 
could  take  a  peep  into  the  rest  of  her  house.  But  I  must 
take  my  seat,  and  draw  on  my  professional  face  again. 

ISeats  himself,  and  spreads  out  a  number  of  maps  and 
papers  on  the  table.'] 

Enter  Aunt  Debby. 

Aunt  Debby — Here  I  am,  at  last;  Mr.  Edmonds 
asked  me  a  good  many  questions,  but  I  put  him  off  every 
time.     So  he  don't  suspect  nothing. 

Keene — (/n  some  alarm) — How  far  off  does  he  live  ? 

Aunt  Debby — Oh,  just  down  the  street.  It's  well  I 
went  just  as  I  did,  for  he  was  just  starting  for  Centerville, 
ten  miles  away,  to  be  there  early  to  court  in  the  morning. 
They  've  got  a  batch  of  counterfeiters  to  try,  and  he  has 
to  be  there  to  prove  something  or  other.  Ain  't  you  well, 
Mr.  Goldsmith,  you  look  so  queer  somehow  ? 

Keene  —  Perfectly  well,  perfectly,  madam;  I  have 
sometimes  a  trifling  dizziness  in  my  head ;  but  it  soon 
passes  over.  Now,  let  us  proceed  to  business  at  once.  I 
have  made  out  your  certificate  of  stock,  five  hundred  dol- 
lars' worth.  There  you  have  it.  Now  I  will  affix  a 
stamp,  and  it  will  be  all  legal.  Here  is  my  address  in 
New  York ;  and  here  are  the  cards  of  the  company.  I 
will  leave  several  with  you ;  and  any  time  you  are  in  the 
city,  just  call.  We  are  always  glad  to  see  the  stock- 
holdei's,  and  to  give  them  all  the  information  in  our 
power.     If  you  have  counted  the  money,  it  is  not  nece* 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  161 

sary  for  me  to  do  so ;  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  your 
honesty,  perfect. 

l^Bows  and  smiles  as  he  receives  the  roll  of  bills  from 
her  hand,  and  exits  hastily.'} 
Aunt  Debby — (^Gathering  up  her  papers^  —  Now,  I 
must  keep  these^  choice  as  gold,  and  hide  them  from 
Olive.  I  know  she  wouldn't  approve  of  it;  but  I  guess 
she  'II  think  differently,  when  I  get  my  first  dividends.  I 
shall  get  half  my  money  back  in  thirty  days.  It 's  a  sight 
easier  than  raising  chickens.  \^Exit. 

[  Curtain.'] 

Scene  IV. — Olive,  dusting  the  sitting-room. 
Enter  Tom. 

Tom — Is  the  mistress  any  better  this  morning,  Miss 
Olive  ? 

Olive — No  better,  Tom,  and  the  doctor  hardly  thinks 
she  ever  will  be.  She  seems  quiet,  and  comfortable, 
though ;  and  that 's  a  blessing,  after  the  stormy  time  we 
have  had.  But  the  shock  has  completely  broken  her. 
She  talks  about  her  silver-mine,  when  she  says  any  thing ; 
and  has  quite  forgotten,  that  she  was  swindled  out  of  all 
her  money.  She  seems  to  be  looking  for  great  returns 
every  day,.  She  sometimes  counts  the  checks  on  the 
counterpaut,  and  thinks  they  are  silver  pieces.  Uncle 
Henry  will  stay  a  few  days,  and  set  things  to  rights;  and 
he  would  ]ike  you  to  stay  on,  and  manage  affairs  just  as 
you  have ;  and  bo  will  make  a  fair  bargain  with  you,  Tom. 

Tom — (FumhUnrj  his  hat) — If  you  plea.se,  miss,  I  would 
like  to  speak  a  word  with  you,  about  some  help  for  the 
kitchen.  It  would  never  do  for  you  to  take  all  the  care 
of  the  old  la'ly  and  the  housekeeping  too. 

Olive — (Smiling) — So  you  think  Mary  Jane  would  be 


162  BTERLING   DIALOGUES 

a  good  assistant,  do  you  ?  Well,  bring  her  here  as  soon 
as  you  like.  I  have  already  spoken  to  Uncle  Henry  about 
it,  and  he  approves  of  it  highly. 

Tom — {^Glowing  with  smiles) — Bless  you,  Miss  Olive, 
I  '11  serve  you  to  the  end  of  my  days.  [^Exvt. 

Olive — And  this  is  the  end  of  my  poor  aunt's  dream 
of  wealth.  How  terrible  it  seems,  to  see  her  so  broken. 
I  am  sorry,  now,  for  my  many  impatient  words  and 
thoughts  toward  her ;  but  she  shall  not  want  for  any  care 
and  attention  I  can  give,  while  her  life  lasts.  There,  I 
hear  her  calling  now. 

{Lays  by  her  duster,  and  hastily  exits. 

[  Curtain.'] 


ILLINOIS.* 
AN  ACTING  CHARADE. 


CHARACTERS  .-—Husband. 
Wife. 
Boy, 


Scene. — Wife,  discovered  sewing. 
Miter  Husband. 

Husband — (  With  hand  over  his  eye,  groaning) — Ob 
dear !  oh  dear !  oh  dear ! 

Wife — {Rushing  to  him) — What  is  it,  husband !     Are 
you  ill? 

Husband — Yes.     Oh  dear !  oh ! 

Enter  Boy,  making  great  noise. 

Wife — {To  Boy) — Hush-sh-sh-sh !     Your  father  is  ill. 
He 's  hurt  his  eye.     Stop  that  noise  ! 

{Helps  out  Husband,  followed  hy  Boy.) 
[  Ourtain.'] 

*  In  "  Illinois,"  sound  the  final  "  s." 


JTEKLINQ  DIALOGUES  165 

THE   YOUNG  DEBATERS. 


:HAEACTERS  :— Thomas  Jones,  large  Boy. 
Harry  Lee,        1 

Frank  Hart,       Lj^aU  Boys. 
Bennie  Nelson,  j  •' 

Albert  Wayne,  J 


Scene. — A  school-room,  or  an  apartment  in  a  house. 

Thomas — Didn't  you  little  fellows  say  you  wanted  to 
learn  to  debate  ? 

Harry,  Frank,  Bennie  and  Albert — (Shouting) — 
Yes,  yes !  oh,  yes  !  We  do  !  That's  it!  Let's  debate  I 
debate ! 

Thomas — Come  here,  then,  and  we  will  arrange 
matters.     What  question  would  you  like  to  debate  ? 

Harry — I  don't  know;  I  never  debated. 

Frank — I  heard  Ben  Bingham  talking  about  a  horse 
and  cow  question. 

Thomas — Well,  can  you  state  the  question  ? 

Frank — No,  I  never  stated  a  question  in  my  life. 

Thomas — Bennie,  can  you  tell  me  what  the  horse  and 
cow  question  is?     Can  you  state  it  or  tell  it  to  me? 

Bennie — I  think  this  is  it:  "Is  a  horse  more  useful 
than  a  cow  ?  " 

Thomas — That 's  right !  Well,  will  that  question  suit 
you? 

Albert — I  think  I  would  like  this  question,  "  Is  a  dog 
more  useful  to  a  man  than  a  gun  ?  " 

Thomas — A  very  good  question,  indeed.  What  do 
you  say,  young  Wobsters  and  Clays,  will  you  take  the 
Uog  and  gun  question  ? 

All  together — I'm  agreed  I  All  right!  It  will 
auit  us  I 


104  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Thomas — Who  will  take  the  affirmative  and  who  the 
negative  ? 

Harry — I  don't  know  what  that  means. 

Thomas — {Laughs) — Ha !  ha !  Well,  I  '11  try  to  ex- 
plain. Those  who  are  on  the  affirmative  will  affirm,  or 
say  tJiat  a  dog  is  more  useful  to  a  man  than  a  gun,  whilst 
those  who  are  on  the  negative  will  deny  that  a  dog  is 
more  useful  to  a  man  than  a  gun.  Do  you  think  you 
understand  ? 

All — I  do.     And  so  do  I. 

Albert — I  want  to  be  on  the  gun  side  of  the  question. 

Thomas — That  will  be  the  negative.  Who  will  assist 
Albert  on  the  gun  side  ? 

Bennie — I  will,  if  you  will  let  me ;  and  I  think  we 
can  whip  the  other  boys  all  to  pieces.  Why,  sir,  a  gun  is 
a  useful  thing — it  is  a  weapon — you  can  shoot  with  a 
gun— 

Thomas — Hold  on,  Mr.  Debater,  you  are  too  fast.  It 
isn't  your  time  to  speak.  The  affirmative  must  open  the 
debate. 

Bennie — Oh,  I  thought  you  wanted  me  to  go  ahead. 
Well,  I'll  wait  till  t\\Q firmament  talks. 

Thomas — {Laughs) — Ha!  ha!  What's  the  firma- 
ment? 

Bennie — Why,  it  is  the  dog  side  of  the  question. 

Thomas — Oh,  yes  !  Well,  Harry,  you  are  on  the  fir- 
mament, as  Bennie  says ;  we  will  let  you  open  the  debate. 
You  must  make  a  speech  and  endeavor  to  show  that  a  dog 
is  more  useful  to  a  man  than  a  gun.  You  can  com- 
mence. 

Harry — {Somewhat  frightened) — I  don't  know  what  to 
Bay. 

Thomas — Walk  right  out  here  and  say  something. 
Don't  be  frightened,     Nobody  will  hurt  you.     You  can 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  l6& 

say  a  few  words,  anyhow,  but  you  must  not  speak  more 
than  five  minutes. 

Harry — I  don't  think  I  can  speak  half  a  minute. 
Well,  then,  I  think  a  dog  is  a  very  useful  animal.  He 
has  four  tails  and  one  leg.  (Boys  laugh.)  I  mean  he  has 
four  legs  and  one  tail.  He  has  a  mouth  and  a  nose,  and 
his  nose — that  is — his  nose  is  always  cold — his  nose  is. 
Our  dog — we  have  a  dog — our  dog  is  a  setter,  he  sets  'most 
all  the  time.  The  name  of  our  dog  is  Bingo ;  he  was 
called  after  the  dog  in  the  song.  The  song  says,  "  There 
was  a  butcher  had  a  dog,  and  Bingo  was  his  name." 

Thomas — I  don't  like  to  interrupt  you;  you  are  mak- 
ing a  very  good  speech,  but  you  ought  to  try  to  show  that 
a  doe:  is  more  useful  to  a  man  than  a  gun. 

Harry — I  thought  I  was  showing  that.  Well,  I'll 
commence  again.  A  dog  is  a  very  useful  animal.  He 
has  four  legs ;  two  of  his  legs  are  hind  legs  and  two  of 
them  are  fore  legs ;  the  hind  legs  are  stuck  on  behind 
and  the  fore  legs  are  stuck  on  before.  If  a  dog  had  no 
fore  legs  behind  and  no  hind  legs  before  he  would  not  be 
80  useful  an  animal.  He  would  not  be  so  useful  because 
he  could  not  run  much.  If  he  had  no  nose  he  would  not 
be  80  useful  either,  for  he  smells  with  his  nose.  Most  all 
dogs  smell  with  the  nose.  He  smells  on  the  track,  and  he 
runs  on  it,  and  sometimes  catches  up  to  it.  You  would 
think,  sometimes,  to  see  a  dog  running  on  his  track,  that 
he  would  run  over  his  nose,  but  he  never  does.  A  dog  is 
useful  to  bark  at  night.  He  is  useful  to  a  man  because 
he  runs  after  him,  and  a  gun  does  not.  You  have  to  put 
your  gun  on  your  shoulder  before  it  will  run  after  you. 

Thomas — Harry,  your  time  is  up.     (Hamj  mts  dow7i.) 
Now,  Bennie,  you  have  a  chance  to  talk  on  the  gun  side. 

Bennie — I  was  going  to  say  before,  (liat  a  gun  was  a 
very  useful  animal,  and   I'll  stick  to  it. 


166  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Thomas — That  is,  you  are  going  to  stick  to  that  which 
you  were  going  to  say  before.     Ah,  yes,  I  understand. 

Benmie — (Speaking  very  loud) — Yes,  sir-ee!  The  gun 
is  the  most  useful  animal  in  the  wilds  of  North  America 
and  Nova  Scotia. 

Thomas — Too  loud  for  a  little  boy.  Become  calm 
before  you  proceed,  or  you  will  alarm  the  neighbors. 

Bennib — How  can  I  be  calm  when  there  is — when 
there  is — that  is — when  there  is — 

Thomas — So  much  at  issue.     I  understand ;  go  ahead. 

Bennie — Yes,  sir !    The  gun  is  the  most  useful  animal. 

Thomas — You  are  not  debating  the  question,  "  is  the 
horse  a  more  useful  animal  than  the  cow  ?  "  Please  don't 
refer  to  the  gun  as  an  animal,  it  makes  me  nervous. 

Bennie — It  was  only  a  mistake  of  the  tongue.  But, 
sir,  the  gun  is  the  most  useful  an — that  is,  he  is  the  most 
useful  gun  in  the  world.  Where  would  we  have  been  to-day 
if  it  had  n't  been  for  the  gun  ?  As  I  said  before,  a  gun  will 
shoot.  You  can  shoot  with  a  gun,  and  you  can  not  shoot 
with  a  dog.  Where  is  the  man  that  ever  shot  with  a  dog  ? 
If  General  George  W.  Washington  had  had  no  gun  when 
he  landed  on  Plymouth  Rock  in  the  Spring  of  1776, 
where  would  we  have  been  to-day  ?  But  he  had  a  guo, 
and  now  we  can  all  sit  around  our  firesides  and  play 
checkers,  or  whistle  "  Yankee  Doodle  "  and  "  Put  me  in 
My  Little  Bed."  The  gun  is  made  by  a  gunsmith.  Guns 
do  not  eat  as  much  as  dogs,  and  hence  it  follows  that  they 
are  usefuler.  Our  dog  is  an  awful  eater.  I  think  I  have 
made  it  clear  to  you  that  the  gun  is  the  most  useful  an — 
most  useful  gun  than  a  dog. 

Thomas  —  Clear  as  mud,  Bennie;  but  you  have 
exhausted  yourself,  and  may  rest  awhile.  Frank,  you 
are  on  the  affirmative.  You  may  reply  to  Bennie's  spread 
eagle  speech  if  you  can  reach  it. 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  16? 

Frank — I  don't  think  I  can  say  much,  as  I  never  de» 
bated  before.  But  I  think  the  dog  is  the  most  useful 
animal.  I  believe  the  question  is,  "  Is  a  dog  more  useful 
to  a  gun  than  a  man  ?  " 

Thomas — {Laughs) — Ha !  ha  !  You  are  badly  ship- 
wrecked. Do  you  wish  to  debate  on  the  gun  or  on  the 
dog  side? 

Frank — You  said  I  would  be  on  the  dog  side. 

Thomas — All  right ;  but  your  question  is,  "  Is  a  dog 
more  useful  to  a  man  than  a  gun  ?  "     Now,  go  ahead. 

Frank — I  say  it  is.  A  dog  is  very  useful  to  man,  from 
the  fact  that  he  is  a  very  useful  animal.  If  we  had  no 
dogs  how  could  we  hunt  rabbits?  "A  dog  will  bite  a 
thief  at  night,"  and  therefore,  a  dog  is  a  very  useful 
animal.  A  dog  will  drive  the  pigs  out  of  the  yard  and 
the  chickens  out  of  the  garden,  therefore,  a  dog  is  a  very 
u:>eful  animal.  A  dog  will  hunt  wood-chucks  and  rac- 
coons, and  sometimes  he  will  kill  snakes,  therefore,  a  dog 
iii  a  very  useful  animal.  The  dog  is  also  a  noble  animal, 
hut  men  often  abuse  dogs,  which  isn't  nice  in  man.  I 
heard  the  other  day  of  a  shabby  trick  which  a  man 
f  layed  upon  his  dog.  The  man  was  in  a  great  wood,  lie 
i\a8  far  away  from  any  house,  and  had  nothing  to  eat. 
What  did  he  do  ?  Why  he  cut  off  the  dog's  tail,  ate  the 
meat  off  of  it,  and  tlien  gave  the  dog  the  bone.  Now, 
that's  what  I  call  a  .shabby  trick.  But  perhaps  that 
saved  the  man's  life.  If  the  man  had  had  a  gun,  where 
would  he  have  been  ?  If  he  had  had  a  gun  he  could  not 
have  cut  off  the  dog's  tail.  The  tail  was  not  thtTc,  neither 
was  the  dog  there.  He  could  not  have  cut  off  the  gun's 
— that  is,  I  mean — I  mean,  of  course,  the  man  would  have 
been  in  a  bad  fix.  If  he  had  had  a  gun  instead  of  a  dog 
he  might  have  perished  there  in  the  midst  of  that  great 
how]pr  of  a  wilderness.      Guns  are  very  good  in  their 


1 68  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

place,  but  they  often  go  off  unexpectedly,  spreading 
famine  and  destruction  around  them. 

Thomas — Famine  and  destruction — that's  the  idea. 
You'll  make  a  debater  some  day,  Frank.  Now,  Albert, 
you  may  come  forward  and  fire  on  the  gun  side. 

Albert — "  He  is  fallen.  We  may  now  pause  before 
that  splendid  prodigy  which  towered  among  us  like  some 
ancient  ruin,  whose  power  terrified  the  glance  its  magnifi- 
cence attracted.     Grand,  gloomy  and  peculiar — " 

Thomas — Halt !  The  name  of  Albert  Wayne  on  this 
occasion  stands  upon  the  list  of  debaters,  and  not  on  the 
list  of  declaimers.  I  'd  like  to  know  what  the  "  Character 
of  Napoleon  Bonaparte"  has  to  do  with  the  important 
question,  "  Is  a  dog  more  useful  to  a  man  than  a  gun  ?  " 

Albert — I  know  I  am  expected  to  debate  the  gun  side 
of  the  question,  but  I  never  debated  before,  and  I  thought 
I  could  kind  of  get  into  the  hang  of  the  thing  if  I  should 
first  speak  a  few  sentences  of  an  old  declamation. 

Thomas — You  will  only  be  allowed  five  minutes,  and 
if  you  consume  your  time  in  speaking  declamations,  you 
will  not  assist  your  "  worthy  colleague  "  very  much. 

Albert — Well,  I  '11  make  another  attempt.  The  dog 
is — that  is — I  mean  the  gun  is. — Guns  are  made  in  many 
places.  Some  guns  are  made  by  gunsmiths,  and  some  are 
made  by  other  persons.  Pop-guns  are  not  made  by  gun- 
smiths. The  gun  is  useful — the  gun — (stammers,)  the 
gun.  I  find  that  debating  is  hard  work,  but  I  suppose 
it  will  be  the  making  of  me  if  I  keep  at  it.  This  reminds 
me  o£  a  story  brother  Bob  read  the  other  day.  I  guess 
I  can't  tell  it  just  the  way  it  was  in  the  paper,  but  I  can 
tell  it  my  own  way.  A  good  while  ago  when  dog-fight- 
ing was  more  in  vogue  than  it  is  at  the  present  time,  a 
young  man  who  was  raising  a  fighting  pup,  induced  his 
old  father  to  get  down  on  all-fours  and  imitate  the  dog. 


STERLING  DIALOGUES  169 

The  pup  caught  the  father  by  the  nose  and  held  on.  The 
son  disregarding  the  old  gentleman's  cries,  exclaimed : 
"  Hold  him,  Growler,  hold  him  !  Bear  it,  father,  bear  it ; 
it  will  be  the  makin'  of  the  pup."  Guns  are  of  various 
sizes.  When  there  is  a  big  war  going  on,  a  great  many 
guns  are  made  and  a  great  many  guns  are  thrown  away ; 
the  soldiers  throw  them  away  when  they  want  to  run 
pretty  fast.  The  last  argument  I  have  to  offer,  is  this : 
An  army  of  men  carrjdng  dogs  would  be  of  but  little  use, 
whilst  an  army  of  men  carrying  guns  can  shoot  and  make 
a  noise.  Where  would  the  Revolutionary  war  have  been 
to-day,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  guns  ?  A  dog  is  not  of  much 
account.  Uncle  Joe  had  a  bad  dog  once,  and  he  took  him 
into  a  crowd  and  tried  to  lose  him,  but  the  dog  was  home 
before  Uncle  Joe. 

Thomas — Time's  up,  Albert. 

Albert — I  'm  glad  of  that,  for  I  did  n't  know  what  I 
would  say  next. 

Thomas — You  have  all  done  remarkably  well  for  a 
first  effort,  and  I  hope  you  will  keep  at  it.  As  Albert 
says,  it  may  be  hard  work,  but  it  will  be  the  making  of 
you  if  you  persevere,  and  whenever  you  feel  like  debating 
again,  I  will  take  pleasure  in  listening  to  you. 

[  Curtain.'] 


(70  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

THE  TWO   DOLLS. 

FOR  THE  VERY  LITTLE  FOLKS. 


CHARACTERS :— George,  a  little  Merchant. 

CELiI;   }  t^«  lit^l^  Girls. 
Captain  Hutton,  Celia's  Unele. 

Scene  I. — George,  seated  behind  a  counter,  on  which  are  arranged 

boxes  and  toys. 

Enter  Kitty,  a  poorly-dressed  little  girl. 

Kitty — I  want  to  buy  a  doll,  a  very  pretty  doll ! 

George — A  rag  doll,  with  good-shaped  head,  black  ink 
eyebrows,  pokeberry  red  cheeks,  and  red  worsted  lips — 
and  with  a  beautiful  dress  of  calico — we  have  a  case  of 
these,  just  from  Paris. 

[Se  throws  out  a  most  ahsurd-loohing  little  home-made 
doll.'] 

Kitty— Oh,  but  it's  pretty!  Omy!  Odear!  O  good- 
ness !  O  sakes !  a  real  beauty !  I  '11  get  that,  if  I  have 
enough  money !  Sakes  alive,  what  a  beauty !  {Turning  it 
round  and  round.)  I  must  have  this,  if  I  can  raise  that 
many  cents !    What  price  ? 

George — How  much  could  you  afford  to  give?  or,  in 
other  words,  how  much  money  have  you  ? 

Kitty — Seven  cents ;  oh,  what  a  beauty  it  is ! 

George — ( Very  importantly) — Our  price,  exactly,  lack- 
ing a  half  cent ;  imported  articles  are  very  dear  now  ;  but 
let  me  see ;  considering,  Kitty,  that  it  is  you,  and  your 
custom  is  worth  something  to  us,  we  '11  throw  off  a  half 
cent.     Shall  I  do  it  up  for  you,  miss  ? 

j^jTTY — Yes ;  here,  (counting  out  rusty  pennies,)  one, 
two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven;  that's  it. 

George — She 's  worth  every  cent  of  it  I 

Kitty — Is  she  named  ? 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  171 

George — {Looking  intently  into  a  day-book) — Yes,  her 
Dame  is  Victoria  Eugenia ! 

Kitty — But  I  don't  like  Victry  Ugia !  Would  it  hurt 
to  change  it  ? 

George — Not  a  bit ;  call  her  anything  you  like :  Su- 
sanna Maria,  or  Jane  Elizabeth,  or  Matilda  Ann. 

Kitty — I'll  call  her  Milly,  wont  that  do? 

George — First  rate;  nice  and  short.  Yes,  call  her 
Milly. 

Kitty — (Kisdng  the  doll) — Oh,  Milly,  darling  Milly, 
how  I  do  love  you.  I  '11  make  you  a  nice  little  bed  when 
we  get  home,  and  we  '11  have  such  lots  of  fun  ;  I  would  n't 
take  seven  times  seven  cents  for  you,  my  beauty,  my  pre- 
cious beauty.  [Exit. 

Enter  Celia,  a  very  stylish-looking  little  lady. 
[George  bows  very  low,  asking  what  she  will  have.^ 

Celia — A  doll,  a  fine  doll — would  prefer  one  dressed 
as  a  bride — I  believe  that  is  the  latest  style — and  it  must 
be  from  Paris. 

George — Our  assortment,  miss,  is  very  fine ;  however, 
we  have  but  one  bride — here  she  is. 

(Holding  up  a  beautiful  doll.) 

Celia — (Fingering  the  dress) — Is  this  real  point  lace? 

George — Yes,  that  is  point  lace,  no  imitation  about 
that. 

Celia — What  price? 

George — Ten  dollars. 

Celia — Only  ten,  here  it  is;  let  me  have  her  in  a  box  ! 

George — (Handing  the  box) — We'll  have  some  higher 
priced  ones,  with  reaVer  point  lace,  when  our  ship 
oomes  in. 

Celia — No  doubt.     Good  morning.  [Exit 

[_  Curtain.^ 


172  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

ScEJTE  II. — Captain  Hutton,  seated,  wiping  his  speetecles. 
Enter  Celia,  pouting  and  half  crying. 

Captain  Hutton — I  'm  sorry,  my  dear,  that  the  doll 
doesn't  suit  you  ;  but  why  didn't  you  go  and  buy  it  your- 
self? My  little  pet  told  me  she  got  a  perfect  beauty  at 
the  toy  shop — a  perfect  beauty. 

Celia — I  did  go,  that 's  what  makes  me  mad  !  I  went 
and  got  the  paltry  thing,  and  gave  ten  dollars  for  it.  No 
doubt,  if  I  'd  waited  till  the  new  lot  came,  and  saved  up 
ten  more  dollars,  I  could  have  suited  myself.  I  don't 
know  who  that  pet  of  yours  is ;  but  I  suppose  she  spent  a 
nice  lot  of  money,  and  got  the  beauty  of  the  establish- 
ment! 

Captain  Hutton — Ha,  ha,  ha.     (  Calls.)     Come  here, 

Kitty ;  bring  your  doll,  and  show  my  niece — she  is  cry- 
ing, because  you  have  the  prettiest  one.  Come,  show  it 
to  us. 

Kitty — (  With  the  doll  lorapped  in  a  shawl  as  she  rocks 
it  tenderly) — Hush-a-by,  hush-a-baby!  Don't  cry,  little 
girl.  I  '11  let  you  play  with  it ;  but  do  n't,  oh,  do  n't  ask 
me  to  part  with  her,  my  own  Milly  ;  and  (coaxingly)  don't 
be  mad  at  me  for  having  a  pretty  doll.  I  never  had  one 
of  my  very  own  before ;  and  the  minute  I  set  eyes  on  this, 
I  went  about  wild  with  joy. 

Celia — Let  me  see  the  doll. 

Kitty  —  {Half  unwraps  it,  then  pauses') — ^You  wont 
snatch  it? 

Celia — Oh,  girl,  how  you  will  have  her  dress  crushed  ! 

Kitty — {Holds  it  up  delightedly) — Don't  you  wish  she 
was  yours  ? 

[Celia,  with  a  little  affected  scream,  faints ;  and  the 
uncle  holds  his  sides  with  laughter.J 

[  Curtain.'] 


8TERLINO  DIALOGUES  173 

THE  CENSUS  TAKER. 


CHAEACTERS :— Mrs.  Smith. 

Samanthy,  addicted  to  poetry. 
Sam,  a  ten-year  old  Boy. 
Mks.  Harris,  the  Neighbor. 
Census  Marshal. 


Scene. — Samanthy,  in  a  soiled  wrapper,  loose  hair,  and  inky  fingers, 
sits  with  portfolio  in  lap,  trying  to  write. 

Enter  Sam,  tuith  cap  on  back  of  head,  whistling,  and 
bringing  kite,  knife,  stick,  and  tacks. 

Sam — Say,  sis,  where 's  ma? 

Samanthy — Over  to  Mis'  Harris's.  ^Sam  whittles  on 
floor.)  You  had  better  not  let  her  catch  you  whittlin'  on 
her  clean  floor ! 

Sam — You  can  clean  it  up. 

Samanthy — Do  I  look  like  it? 

Sam — I  'm  going  to  fix  my  kite,  anyhow.    Who 's  afraid 

of  her  ? 

Enter  Mrs.  Smith. 

Mrs.  Smith — Samuel!  (Sam  drops  knife  and  tacks, 
picks  up,  and  sits  down  farther  back.)  What  be  you  a- 
doin'  ? 

Sam — I  was  just  a-makin'  my  kite. 

Mrs.  Smith — I  '11  "  kite  "  you,  if  you  do  n't  stop  whit- 
tlin' !     ( Takes  broom.     A  knock.)     Come ! 

Enter  Census  Marshal. 

Census  MAii-siiAL — Good  morning! 
Mrs.  Smith — (  Grumblingly) — Mornin'.   Take  a  cheer? 

(Dusting  one  with  apron.) 
Census  MAR.-iiiAT> — Tlianks. 

Mrs.  Smith — Needn't  mind  about  anything  for  that. 
Census  Makhiial — Madam,  I'm  commissioned  by  the 
c/nited  States  Government  to  collect — 


l74  STERLING    DIALOOUES 

Mrs.  Smith — Aint  got  nothin'  to  give;  another  feller 
'round  beggin'  last  week ! 

Census  Marshal— You  don't  understand  me,  m»dam; 
I  am  simply  authorized — 

Mrs.  Smith — I  should  think  so ! 

Census  Marshal — To  take  the  Census ! 

[Mrs.  Smith,  indignatitly  sweeping  the  dust  into  his 
face,  he  moves  back,  and  places  hat,  with  papers  and 
gloves  in  it,  on  the  table.  Sam  puts  on  hat  and 
gloves,  and  takes  papers  for  kite-tail.'] 

Mrs.  Smith — (Very  loud) — You  can't  take  none  of  my 
senses ! 

Census  Marshal — You  will  please  remember  that 
one  of  my  senses  is  peculiarly  acute;  and  I  can  hear  per- 
fectly, if  you  don't  speak  half  as  loud! 

Mrs.  Smith — You  '11  have  to  be  "cuter  "  than  I  think 
you  be,  if  you  take  anything  here ! 

Census  Marshal — Are  you  the  head  of  this  family, 
madam  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — Well,  yes;  that's  what  folks  say. 

Census  Marshal — I  mean — have  you  a  husband  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — O  yes,  when  he's  to  hum;  but  he  aint 
1,0  hum  to-day,  'cause  I  sent  him  down  to  Seth  Browns's, 
to  get  a  pound  of  candles.  (Sweeping.) 

Sam — Say,  ma,  old  Brown  says  he  wont  trust  you  no 
more! 

Mrs.  Smith — Samuel ! 

Census  Marshal — What  is  your  husband's  name  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — 'Liphalet ! 

Census  Marshal — Hasn't  he  any  other? 

Mrs.  Smith  —  Yes,  sir — Ebenezer!  his  mother  and 
Ebenezer  Jones  kep'  company  for  years,  kinder ;  that  is, 
he  used  to  take  her  to  spellin'  schools,  and  buskin's,  and 
uich  ;  but  when  he  went  to  sea,  and  wasn't  heard  from  in 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  175 

six  hull  months,  and  my  man's  father  kinder  hung  'round, 
and  being  good-looking  and  fore-handed,  she  just  up  and 
married  him,  and  named  her  first  boy  arter  both  on  'em — 
'Liphalet  Ebeuczer. 

Census  Marshal — My  goodness ! 

Sam — And  my  name's  John  Samuel.  Uncle  John  run 
off  to  Californy,  after  he  stole  that  horse. 

Mrs.  Smith — 'Taint  no  such  thing  !  Sam,  if  you  ever 
tell  ichere  he  went  to  ag'in,  I'll  flog  you;  there! 

Census  Marshal — Hope  I  haven't  got  to  hear  the 
whole  family  history.  But  what  do  the  neighbors  call  him  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — Squire,  mostly. 

Census  Marshal — (Aside)  —  Doesn't  she  know  any- 
thing? (To  Samanthy.)  Young  lady, "will  you  tell  me 
the  name  of  the  man  of  this  house  ? 

Samanthy — Certainly.     Smith  ;  S-m-y-t-h-e ! 

Census  Marshal — ( Writing  in  his  book,  and  reading 
aloud) — "  Eliphalet  Ebenezer  S-m-i-t-h." 

Samanthy — Oh,  that  horrid  man ! 

Census  Marshal — What's  his  occupation  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — His  what? 

Census  Marshal — What  does  he  work  at? 

Mrs.  Smith — Oh,  as  to  that,  he  don't  do  much,  my 
man  don't;  he's  weak  in  the  back,  and  work  don't  agree 
with  him  fust  rate ;  and  being  of  a  sociable  sort  of  mind, 
he  sets  'round  to  the  tavern  mostly. 

Samanthy — Oh,  mother! 

Census  Marshal — How  much  land  have  you  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — (Leaning  on  her  broom,  and  pointing  out 
the  window) — Well,  there's  the  three-corn'ed  lot  over  east, 
{pointing,)  whore  we  had  turnips  last  year,  and  that  one 
jining  onto  Job  Harris's  forty-acre;  but  that's  so  stunny, 
that  it  haiut  never  been  plowed,  and  he  took  care  of  Job's 
melon-patch  on  shares — 


176  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

Sam — When  they  got  ripe  ! 

Census  Marshal — Keep  to  your  own  property! 

Mrs.  Smith — That  aini  much  ;  just  this  'ere  house-lot*, 
the  rest  is  mortgaged. 

Census  Marshal — ( Writing  and  reading  aloud) — Let 
me  see — acre,  acre-and-a-half,  two  acres.  Well !  have 
you  any  horses  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — No !  Eliphalet  thinks  them 's  too  resky 
property. 

Sam — Why,  yes  we  have,  ma ! 

Mrs.  Smith  —  No  we  haint,  uuther;  what  do  you  mean? 

Sam — That  old  saw-horse,  down  in  the  shanty. 

(  Goes  to  driving  tacks  with  knife.) 

Mrs.  Smith — {Approvingly) — Now,  Samuel ! 

(Samanthy  giggles.) 

Census  Marshal — Have  you  any  other  stock  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — Just  one  load  of  'em,  that  Farmer  Bailey 
give  us  to  feed  our  cow. 

Census  Marshal — Then  you  have  one  cow  ? 

(  Writing.) 
Mrs.  Smith — Who  denied  it? 

Sam  —  And  she  gives  such  awful  rich  milk;  ma 
always  has  to  water  it,  before  selling  Mis'  Harris  any. 

Mrs.  Smith — Samuel!  you  tell  that  ag'in,  and  I'll 
lick  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life ! 

Census  Marshal — I  forgot  to  inquire  about  the  chil- 
dren.    Say  them  over,  slowly,  and  I'll  write  them  down. 

Mrs.  Smith — {Counting  on  fingers  very  slowly) — Well, 
there's  'Liphalet,  named  after  his  father,  that's  one;  Sa- 
manthy, named  after  me,  is  two  ;  Ne'amiah,  but  he's  mar- 
ried, that's  four ;  Peter,  he's  working  for  Bailey,  so  we  aint 
got  to  pay  for  him;  and  Desire,  she's  the  seventh,  isn't 
she  ?  Let  me  see !  'Liphalet,  named  after  his  father ;  Sa- 
manthy, named — 


GTERLTNG    DTALOGTTES  171 

Census  Marshal—/  don't  desire  you  should  repeat 
them  ;  go  on  ! 

Mrs.  Smith — And  Ne'amiah  is  four,  and  Samuel  is 
five,  and  Sary  Ann — but  she's  the  baby,  so  Ave  wont  count 
her  in  either  ;  Jim  and  Peggy 's  the  twins,  seven — and  the 
other's  at  school. 

Census  Marshal — Others !  How  many  others  ?  Now 
their  ages  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — Whose? 

Census  Marshal — Oh,  'Liphalet's,  Ne'amiah's,  etc. 

Mrs.  Smith — I  wonder  if  I  can  tell !  Ebenezer  is — 
(Census  Marshal  urites  again.)  Well,  now,  I  wouldn't 
a-thought  he  was  that  old  ;  why,  he  was  growin'  on  two 
when  Jeff  Smith — he  's  his  cousin — married  Sophy  Jones 
— she  's  my  cousin — and  their  oldest  is  big  enough  to  come 
skylarkin'  'round  here  Sunday  nights.  She  {pointing  to 
Samanthy)  is  just  his  age,  lacking  six  months.  Next 
one  's  two  year  older  than  Peter ;  and  he 's — 

(^Pointing  to  SA>r,  ivho  snatches  off  hat,  etc.) 

Census  Marshal — How  old  are  you.  Bub  ? 

Sam — A  whole  year  littler  than  Bill  Coon  ;  but  when 
he  said  a-s  how  I  das  n't,  I  just  told  him  I  was  n't  the  man 
to  take  no  sass,  and  I  just  at  him,  I  did,  and  I  '11  lick  him 
more,  yet. 

Samanthy — Where  does  he  get  that  slang? 

Mrs.  Smith — (To  Sam) — You  aint  to  fight  no  more! 
(To  Census  Marshal.)  Why,  see  here,  reckon  it  your- 
self; he  was  born  the  May  after  the  brindle  cow  killed 
herself  will  1  turnips — you  see — 

Census  Marshal — No,  I  don't  see,  and  I  don't  want 
to !     Got  any  poultry  ? 

Mra.  Smttii — (Aside) — Tetchy,  aint  ho?  (Aloud.)  Yes, 
Samanthy  writ  lots  of  it.  ( To  Samanthy)  Say,  supposin' 
you  tell  him  some  of  your  pieces. 


178  STERLING  DIALOGUES 

Samanthy — {Affectedly) — I  only  consult  the  muses  as 
a  recreation,  sir,  when  the  lambent  fire  burns  so  brightly 
in  my  brain  ;  I  have  no  other  way  of  relieving  my  over- 
taxed mental  faculties. 

Sam — I  say,  sis,  did  you  ever  try  cold  water,  to  put  out 
the  fire  ? 

Samanthy — Oh,  that  horrid  boy ! 

Mrs.  Smith — ( To  Sam) — Stop  your  noise,  sir !  (  To  Sa- 
M  AN  THY.)  Just  tell  over  the  names  of  some  of  the  pret- 
tiest ones.   Do  ! 

Samanthy— Well,  there 's  "  The  Ode  to  the  Moon," 
and  "  Thou  modest  Violet  that  opes  thy  Eye  " — 

Sam — "  To  every- — body — passin'  by ! " 

(Census  Marshal  laughs.') 

Samanthy — (  To  Sam) — Shut  up ! 

Census  Marshal — I  mean,  hens,  ducks,  geese,  and 
the  like. 

Mrs.  Smith — Oh!  Well,  there's  three  white  ones, 
one  black  pullet,  one  speckled,  one  that 's  blind,  and  one 
with  her  feet  froze  off*.     Counted  'em  ? 

Sam — And  two  ruseters ! 

Census  Marshal — Seven  in  all.  (  Writes.) 

Enter  Mrs.  Harris,  with  shawl  over  her  head. 

Mrs.  Harris — Mis'  Smith,  be  you  goin'  to  take  care 
of  that  yearlin'  of  your  'n,  or  not  ?  My  man,  he  says  he  '11 
shut  him  up  in  the  pound !  \_Exit. 

Mrs.  Smith — Shut  him  up  in  the  pond,  will  he?  I 
suppose  she  means  he  '11  drownd  him  !    He  'd  better  try  it ! 

Sam — I  tell  you,  he 's  a  beauty,  all  red ;  the  one  this 
year  is  spotted. 

Census  Marshal — I  '11  put  those  in  with  the  other 
Block.  (Writes.  Rises.)  Well,  madam,  I  believe  that 
fe  aii;  I  thank  you  for  your  information. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  179 

Mrs.  Smith — I  'm  sure  you  're  welcome  to  all  the  in- 
flammation  you  've  got  out  of  me. 

Census  Marshal — ( Turns  and  snatches  things,  while  he 
shakes  and  talks  to  Sam) — You  youug  rascal !  {Looks  for 
papers  in  hat.)     What  have  you  done  with  my  papers  ? 

Sam — {Whining) — I  didn't  think  you'd  care;  so  I 
took  'em  for  the  tail  of  my  kite. 

Census  Marshal — {Leaves  the  room,  muttering) — I  'd 
"  kite  "  you,  if  I  were  your  mother !  \_Exit. 

Sam — Thank  my  stars,  you  never  will  be  my  mother. 

Samaxthy — Mother,  will  you  chastise  that  boy,  while 
I  retire  to  revel  in  my  accustomed  flights  of  fancy  ? 

Mrs.  Smith — Do  you  mean  lick  him  ?    That  I  will ! 

[  Oiirtain.'] 


THE  RETURNED  BROTHER. 


CHARACTERS :— Washington  Watson,  just  returned. 
John  Watson,  rich  Brother. 
Susan  Kendall,  Wa.shington's  Sister. 


Scene. — A  room  in  a  hotel.  Washington  Watson  discovered. 
Washington — Home  once  more !  Home  from  Cali» 
fomia !  When  I  left  this  place,  I  was  young  and  strong ; 
now  I  am  old  and  broken  down ;  but  I  have  money  in 
abundance.  I  want  to  end  my  days  here.  I  want  to  rest 
in  peace.  I  have  sent  for  ray  brother  and  sister  ;  and,  in 
these  seedy  garments,  they  will  readily  suppose  that  T  have 
brought  but  little  of  the  gold  dust  with  me.  Somebody's 
at  the  door,  I  think.  {Opens  door.) 

Enter  John  Watson. 
Washington — T  suppose  yon  arc  my  brother  John  ? 
John — Yf!s.    ( 7hnj  nhakc  hands.)  I  came  in  answer  to 
the  request  of  your  messenger. 


!80  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

Washington — I  am  glad  to  see  you.      How  have  you 
prospered  ? 

John — Oh,  I  have  been  getting  along  miserably. 

Washington — You  wear  good  clothes.  That 's  a  sign 
of  prosperity.     Look  at  my  clothes. 

John — Yes,  I  have  observed  them.  You  did  not  pros- 
per then,  in  California  ? 

Washington — I  lived  comfortably.  The  climate  is 
delightful.  But  I  am  an  old  man — several  years  older 
than  you — and  I  have  a  desire  to  end  my  days  here. 
You  do  uot  object  to  my  taking  up  my  abode  with  you  ? 

John — Well — no — yes — that  is.  To  tell  the  whole 
truth  about  the  matter,  Washington,  my  house  is  small, 
and  I  have  a  large  family.  It  would  not  be  pleasant  for 
you  there. 

Washington — Oh,  I  can  get  along  splendidly !  I  am 
fond  of  young  folks. 

John — Yes,  but  you  know — 

Washington — Oh,  I  understand.  You  think  because 
I  am  old,  I  will  make  trouble  in  the  household.  But 
do  n't  be  alarmed.  I  am  not  quarrelsome.  {Knock  at  the 
door.)     My  sister,  I  suppose.  ( Opens  the  door.) 

Enter  Mrs.  Susan  Kendall. 

Mrs.  Kendall — ( TJirowing  her  arms  around  Wash- 
ington)— Oh,  Washington,  you  have  returned  at  last ! 
I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  But  why  did  n't  you  come  to 
our  house  ?     Why  did  you  stop  here  ? 

Washington — I  thought  it  would  be  right  and  proper 
for  me  to  stop  here,  until  I  had  found  out  whether  I  would 
be  welcome  or  not. 

Mrs.  Kendall — Washington !  Why  do  you  talk  so  ? 
Did  you  for  a  moment  suppose  that  we  would  not  be  glad 
to  see  you  ? 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  18i 

Washington — Well,  I  didn't  know.  This  is  a  queer 
world,  and  those  we  consider  very  dear  friends  are  some- 
times bitter  enemies. 

Mrs.  Kendall — I  am  surprised  that  you  should  for 
an  instant  suppose  that  we  would  not  be  very  glad  to  see 
you. 

Washington  —  But  you  see  I  am  poorly  dressed. 
Would  you  care  to  keep  me  awhile  at  your  house  ? 

Mrs.  Kendall — Certainly,  we  will  keep  you !  Are 
you  not  my  brother  ?  We  are  not  wealthy.  We  have  a 
large  family,  and  my  husband  is  a  cripple ;  but  do  you, 
for  a  moment,  suppose  that  I  would  not  be  glad  to  have 
you  stay  with  us,  as  long  as  you  please  ? 

Washington — But  here's  my  wealthy  brother,  John, 
who  doesn't  feel  inclined  to  take  me,  and  why  should  I 
thrust  myself  upon  you  ?  He  is  rich,  they  say,  and  you 
are  poor. 

John — Well,  you  see — Susan,  you  understand  how  it  is. 
We  have  a  large  family,  and  our  house  is  small,  and  a 
stranger  coming  in,  is  apt  to  cause  trouble. 

Mrs.  Kendall — But,  John,  Washington  is  our  brother. 

John — I  know,  and  he  had  as  much  money  to  start 
with  as  I  had.  If  he  wandered  over  the  world,  and  spent 
it  all,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine. 

Mrs.  Kendall — John,  I  am  astonished! 

John — Are  you,  indeed  ? 

Mrs.  Kendall — You  are  becoming  too  grasping  and 
avaricious.  You  can  not  take  your  money  with  you  when 
you  go  down  to  the  grave. 

John — Susan,  it  isn't  necessary  for  you  to  commence 
to  preach  to  me.     I  think  I  can  attend  to  my  own  afHiirs. 

Washington — Y&s,  go  forward  and  lay  up  money — 
you  may  need  it  all. 

John — And  if  you  and  Susan  had  been  more  economi- 


182  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

cal,  you  would  have  been  iu  better  circumstances  to-day. 
But  I  can 't  stand  here  talking  all  day  ;  I  have  business  to 
attend  tu.  {Going.) 

Washington — You  are  not  going  to  see  me  thrown 
out  upon  the  cold  charities  of  the  world — you  are  not 
going  to  allow  me  to  go  to  the  poor-house,  are  you  ? 

John — Susan  says  she  will  keep  you.  She  seems  to  be 
seeking  trouble,  and  if  she  desires  to  make  you  a  member 
of  her  household,  you  shouldn't  growl.  "Beggars 
shouldn't  be  choosers,"  you  know. 

Washington — And  you  will  not  reach  out  your  hand 
to  save  me  from  the  poor-house  ? 

John — ( Testily) — I  do  n't  see  any  use  in  making  so 
much  fuss  about  it.  Didn't  you  get  as  much  money  as  I? 
If  you  made  a  bad  use  of  it — if  you  squandered  it — you 
can  not  blame  me.  You  should  have  taken  care  of  your 
money.  If  you  had  done  so,  you  would  not  have  been 
going  around  now  trying  to  sponge  off  your  relations. 

Washington — Stop.  I  have  heard  enough.  How 
much  money  do  you  suppose  I  have  ? 

John — (Sneeringly) — Well,  from  your  appearance,  I 
should  say  you  have  twenty-five  cents. 

Washington — Shrewd  guesser !  Well,  sir,  I  wish  to 
tell  you  that  I  have  money  sufficient  to  buy  out  half  a 
dozen  such  small  men  as  you.  I  have  at  least  five  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  and  I  am  happy  to  say  that  neither 
you  nor  any  of  your  family  shall  lay  your  hands  on  a 
penny  of  it.  My  money  was  not  made  to  be  handled  by 
small-souled  people.  I  wished  to  find  out  how  my  brother 
and  sister  would  treat  me.  I  am  satisfied.  I  will  make 
my  home  with  my  sister.  She  shall  want  for  nothing, 
and  at  my  death  my  money  shall  belong  to  her  and  her 
children.  Good  morning,  most  noble  brother.  I  have 
had  my  say,  and  you  can  retire. 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  183 

John — But,  Washington,  you  do  not  consider.  I  ex- 
plained to  you  that  I  had  a  small  house,  and  a  large 
family.     Of  course  I  would  like  to  have  you  stay  with  me. 

Washington — Susan,  come.  If  he  will  not  retire  we 
will.  {To  John.)  Your  house  has  suddenly  become 
larger,  but  the  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  didn't 
make  it  become  so !  Oh,  no,  of  course  not !  Come,  Susan, 
I  do  not  wish  to  hold  any  further  conversation  with  him. 

\^Exit  Washington  and  Susan. 

John— 'Well,  now,  haven't  I  put  my  foot  in  it?  Who 
would  have  supposed  that  a  man  dressed  in  that  style  wag 
the  possessor  of  five  hundred  thousand  dollars?  Just  my 
luck !     I  declare  I  feel  angry  enough  to  howl. 

\_Exit  John. 

[  Omiain.'] 


AFTER  A  FASHION. 


CHAEACTERS :— Mrs.  Nelson. 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  a  Caller. 
MiNNiK,  Mrs.  Armstrong's  Daughter. 


Scene.— A  parlor. 
Enter  Mrs.  Nelson,  with  a  book  in  her  hand. 

Mrs.  Nelson — (SoIuh) — There !  I  've  got  my  morning 
work  all  done.  I'll  just  get  a  lunch  at  noon  for  myself, 
and  then  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  until  John  conies  home 
to-night.  There's  some  mending  that  ought  to  be  done, 
and  those  shirts  of  John's  must  be  made  before  long,  for 
he  is  complaining  about  his  old  ones.  But  I  don't  know 
that  I'm  going  to  be  tied  up  sewing  all  the  time.  I 
believe  I'll  hire  those  shirts  made,  and  set  the  cost  of 
their  making  down  as  household  expenses.      John   will 


184  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

never  find  it  out,  I  'm  going  to  have  one  day  to  myself 
anyhow,  to  take  solid  comfort  in.  Here's  this  novel  that 
I  haven't  been  able  to  look  at  since  yesterday  forenoon, 
and  I  left  off  right  in  the  most  interesting  part.  And  I  'm 
so  afraid  John  will  find  out  I  am  reading  it  before  I  have 
finished  it.  Now  I  will  sit  down  and  enjoy  myself.  (Seats 
herself  in  a  chair  and  opens  the  book.)  Hark  !  Did  n't  I 
hear  a  carriage  stop  before  the  house  ?  (  Gets  up  and  looks 
out)  I  did.  And  if  that  odious  Mrs.  Armstrong  isn't 
getting  out  of  it !  She's  got  that  disgusting  child  of  hers 
with  her,  and  I  know  she's  come  to  spend  the  day.  Oh, 
dear !  Was  there  ever  anything  more  vexatious  ?  Mrs. 
Armstrong  herself  is  bad  enough,  but  that  stupid  child  is 
worse.  I  often  think  I  am  just  like  an  old  hen,  I  like  my 
own  chickens  well  enough,  but  I  feel  like  cracking  every 
other  hen's  chicks  on  the  head. 

[Mrs.  Armstrong  knocks.    Mrs.  Nelson  lays  her 
book  on  the  table  a7id  opens  the  door.^ 

Enter  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Minnie. 

Mrs.  Nelson— My  dear  Mrs.  Armstrong!  (Kisses 
her.)  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you !  And  how  kind  of  you 
to  come !  Now  sit  right  down  and  let  me  take  your  bon- 
net and  cloak. 

[  Offers  her  a  chair.    Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Minnie 
sit  down.2 

Mrs.  Armstrong— Oh,  no,  no,  I  can  not  stay  long. 

Mrs.  Nelson— (^stWe)— Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  (To  Mrs. 
Armstrong.)  Not  stay  long  ?  Why,  you  have  come  to 
spend  the  day  with  me,  of  course.  I  was  so  lonesome  this 
morning  that  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  myself,  and 
as  soon  as  I  saw  you  drive  up,  I  said,  now  there  is  that 
dear  delightful  woman,  who  always  knows  when  to  do  a 
kind  action,  come  to  keep  me  company  to-day,  and  what  a 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  18S 

pleasant  time  we  shall  have.  Now  wont  you,  canH  you 
make  up  your  mind  to  stay  ? 

Mks.  Armstrong — I  wish  I  could,  you  dear  woman, 
but  it  is  impossible. 

Mrs.  Nelson — You  don't  know  how  disappointed  I 
am  !  (Aside.)  It  is  such  a  relief  to  know  1  wont  have  tc 
get  dinner,  and  nothing  in  the  house  but  a  little  cold  meat. 
(To  Mrs.  Armstrong.)  Well,  since  you  wont  stay  let  us 
make  the  best  of  the  little  time  we  have.  And  how  are 
you,  dear? 

Mrs.  Armstrong — I  'm  quite  well,  I  thank  you.  And 
how  have  you  been  since  I  saw  you  last  ? 

Mrs.  Nelson — Tolerably  well.  Only  I  am  so  lone- 
some. You  know  John  leaves  me  at  home  all  day,  and 
the  children  go  to  school,  and  you  never  come  to  see  me. 
And  how  is  this  little  darling  ?  (Kisses  Minnie.) 

Minnie — Very  well. 

Mrs.  Armstrong — Minnie,  why  don't  you  ask  the 
lady  how  she  is  ? 

Minnie — Because  I  don't  want  to  know. 

Mrs.  Armstrong — Oh,  Minnie !  ( To  Mrs.  Nelson.) 
Well,  you  know  children  will  be  children. 

Mrs.  Nelson — The  dear  child  !  It  is  such  a  blessing 
to  have  children  candid  and  truthful.  If  grown  folks 
were  only  so,  how  much  better  the  world  would  be.  I 
always  try  to  set  my  children  an  example.  (Aside.)  The 
little  unmannerly  cub  !  I  would  soon  teach  her  better  if 
she  was  my  child  ! 

Mrs.  Armstrong — Yes,  Minnie  is  very  truthful,  and  I 
am  glad  she  is  so.  But  how  do  you  spend  these  long 
days  ? 

MitH.  Nklson — Oh,  how  can  you  ask  me  that,  and 
yourself  tlie  mistress  of  a  family?  You  must  know  a 
mother  and  housekeeper  always  finds  plenty  to  do.    There 


156  STERLING  DIALOGUES 

are  always  mending  and  making  on  hand,  enough  to  more 
than  fill  up  one's  leisure  moments.  Just  as  I  heard  your 
carriage  drive  to  the  door,  I  was  about  to  get  out  the  mus- 
lin to  make  my  husband  some  shirts.  I  never  have  one 
moment  of  time  to  rest  or  to  improve  my  mind. 

Mrs..  Armstrong — You  poor  woman  !  You  must  not 
overwork  yourself. 

Mrs.  Nelson — How  can  I  help  it  ?  You  know  it  is 
the  lot  of  all  women.  If  we  can  only  make  our  husbands 
happy,  and  bring  up  our  children  to  be  useful  members  of 
society,  we  should  never  be  discontented  or  complain. 

Mrs.  Armstrong — (Takes  up  book  from  table) — What 
is  this  ?     Oh,  I  see,  I  hope  you  have  not  been  reading  it. 

Mrs.  Nelson — That  book?  Oh,  no!  I  wouldn't 
look  at  it  for  anything.  My  husband  brought  it  home 
last  night  for  me  to  read,  but  I  told  him  I  hadn't  a 
moment  of  time  to  do  so. 

Mrs.  Armstrong — My  husband  said  it  wasn't  a  pro^ 
per  book  at  all  for  a  woman  to  read,  or  even  for  a  man. 

Mrs.  Nelson — Is  it  possible  ?  I  didn't  suspect  it,  for 
I  haven't  looked  into  it.  I  wonder  John  brought  it  to  me. 
But  then  he  knows  /  can  safely  read  anything,  for  my 
principles  are  so  firmly  fixed.  How  happy  a  woman 
should  be  when  her  husband  can  trust  her  !  Well,  I  'm 
glad  you  told  me,  for  if  I  had  found  a  little  time  after  my 
sewing  was  done,  I  might  have  turned  over  a  few  pages. 
And  though  my  husband  is  so  careless,  I  think  women 
can  not  be  too  particular  what  they  read. 

Mrs.  Armstrong — Yes,  so  I  think.  But  really,  I  must 
be  going. 

Mrs.  Nelson — Don't  think  of  it.  You  haven't  stayed 
any  time  yet. 

Mrs.  Armstrong — {Rising) — But  I  must,  indeed  I 
wish  I  could  stay  longer. 


^  STERLING   DIALOGUES  18? 

Mrs.  Nelson — Well,  if  you  mad  go,  I  can't  compel 
you  to  stay.  But  do  ct)ine  soon  and  spend  the  entire  day 
with  me.  You  know  there  is  nobody  whom  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  as  yourself.  And  you  must  be  sure  to  bring  this 
little  darling  with  you. 

Mrs.  Armstrong — Well,  do  come  and  see  me,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Nelson. 

Mrs.  Nelson — I  will  certainly,  if  I  can  ever  spare  the 
time  from  my  work.  (  They  kiss.) 

Mrs.  Armstrong — Good  morning. 

Mrs.  Nelson — Good  morning,  dear.  (Exit  Mrs. 
Armstrong  and  Minnie.)  There,  she's  gone  at  last, 
and  I 'm  so  glad.  The  mean,  spying  thing !  She  thought 
she  had  caught  me  on  that  novel,  but  I  don't  think  she 
found  out  much.  If  she  waits  until  I  want  to  see  her  be- 
fore she  comes  again,  she  will  be  old  and  gray.  My 
whole  morning  has  been  wasted  with  her  call.  So  now  I 
will  go  and  take  my  lunch,  and  then  make  another 
attempt  to  sit  down  and  finish  the  book  before  John 
comes  home  and  discovers  me  reading  it. 

[Exit  Mrs.  Nelson 

[  Curtain.'] 


188  STERLING   DIALOGUES 


A  FRIGHTENED   LODGER. 


CHARACTERS :— Hezekiah  Scruggins. 
Alexander  Addison. 
Pat  Mulravey. 
Landlord. 


Scene. — Room  in  a  Hotel. 

Enter  Hezekiah. 

Hez. — Wall,  I  'spose  I'll  hev  tew  stop  here  and  stay 
over  night.  This  ain't  much  of  a  room,  neither,  tew 
put  sich  a  feller  as  Hezekiah  Scruggins  intew.  The 
landlord  sez  as  heow  they  are  awfully  crowded,  and 
if  another  feller  should  happen  tew  come,  I  s'pose  he'd 
chuck  him  in  along  o'  me.  Neow  I'd  rayther  not  hev 
a  companyun  on  the  present  occasion,  but  I  reckon 
ef  anybody  comes  in  it  will  hev  tew  be  endoored.  I 
'most  wish  I  hadn't  come  tew  this  big  agerculteral  fair. 
It  ain't  nothin'  but  push  and  scrouge  from  mornin' 
till  night.  (Sits  down.)  I'm  most  tarnation  tired.  I've 
been  a  trampin'  reound  all  this  blessed  day,  and 
haven't  seen  nothin'  of  much  acceount  neither.  I 
wish  I  was  tew  hum.  If  I  know  myself  I'll  strike 
eout  fur  that  same  hum  to-morrow  evenin'.  {Noise  out- 
side.) Hullo  !  thar's  a  trampin'  at  the  door.  I  'spose 
my  pardner  is  a  comin'.  If  I  am  tew  have  a  compan- 
yun,  I  hope  he'll  be  a  respectable-lookin'  feller.  {Door 
is  opened,  and  Landlord  ushers  in  Alexander  Addi- 
son.    Hezekiah  rises.     Exit  Landlord.) 

Alex. — Well,  my  friend,  it  seems  that  we  are  to 
/odge  together  to-night. 

Hez. — Yaas,  so  it  seems.     This  ain't  an  awful  good 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  li^^ 

room,  but  I  reckon  we'll  hev  tew  put  up  with  it,  seein 
as  heow  all  the  houses  are  so  much  crowded. 

Alex. — I  feel  very  tired,  and  shall  sit  down  to  rest. 
Be  seated,  my  friend ;  don't  let  my  coming  disturb  you. 

Hez. — No,  yeou  ain't  disturbin'  me,  not  in  the  least 
(Aside.)  That  feller's  got  a  quare  look  abeout  him, 
I'm  mighty  'fraid  thar's  somethin'  wrong. 

Alex. — Why  don't  you  sit  down  and  make  yourself 
comfortable?  If  you  have  travelled  around  as  much 
as  I  have  to-day  you  certainly  feel  like  resting. 

Hez. — I  guess  I'll  step  reound  a  spell ;  I  don't  feel 
like  sittin'.  (Aside.)  By  thunder,  I  believe  that's  the 
crazy  man  that  is  a  runnin'  areound.  He  answers  tew 
the  description. 

Alex. — (Goes  to  door  and  locks  it) — I  guess  I'll  shut 
out  all  intruders.  That  money-loving  landlord  would 
likely  crowd  a  couple  more  into  this  room  if  they 
should  ask  for  lodging.  Well,  we  are  bosses  now,  Mr. 
' I  forgot  to  ask  your  name. 

Hez. — My  name  is  Hezekiah  Scruggins,  at  yeour 
sarvice. 

Alex. — And  mine  is  Alexander  Addison. 

Hez. — (Aside) — Good  gracious !  I  don't  know  what 
on  airth  I'll  dew.  But  I  must  git  eout  o'  this.  It  '11 
never  dew  tew  stay  here.  He  has  locked  the  door,  and 
one  of  his  crazy  spells  will  come  on  soon.  By  gosh,  I 
don't  know  what's  tew  be  done.  I  am  in  the  tbird 
story,  and  can't  jump  eout  of  a  window — no  sir!  that 
might  make  a  finisli  of  me.  But  I  must  do  somethin' 
soon.     What  an  ugly  eye  he  has! 

Alex. — (Aside) — Tliat's  a  rascally-looking  fellow. 
He  doesn't  seem  inclined  to  talk,  and  he  goes  around 
as  if  he  wanted  to  do  something  desperate.  1  really 
think  he  is  a  robber  or  a  pickpocket.    They  say  there 


190  STERLING  DIALOGUES 

were  plenty  of  them  on  the  fair-grounds  to-day.    ) 
wish  I  was  out  of  this. 

Hez. — (Aside) — I  guess  as  heow  I'll  holler.  I'm 
most  afeared  tew  dew  so,  tew,  fur  he  would  immedi- 
ately spring  upon  me.  {To  Alex.)  Yeou'd  better  unlock 
that  door  agin,  hadn't  yeou? 

Alex. — And  why  should  I  unlock  the  door? 

Hez. — (In  a  frightened  tone) — I — I — guess  I'll — go 
deown  stairs  agin. 

Alex. — All  right,  you  can  go.  Will  you  come  back? 
(^s  Alexander  goes  to  unlock  the  door  he  passes  close  h 
Hezekiah,  who  thinks  he  is  trying  to  catch  hold  of  him, 
Hez.  jumps  to  one  side  and  shouts :) 

Hez. — Murder!  murder! 

Alex. — (Aside) — That's  a  pickpocket ;  I  feel  certain 
of  it.  He  is  trying  to  get  up  an  excitement  for  the 
purpose  of  robbing  somebody.  (Advancing  towards 
Hez.)  I  know  your  true  character,  sir,  and  I  have  a 
good  mind  to  knock  you  down. 

Hez. — It's  coming  on  !  It's  coming  on  !  Oh,  what 
will  I  dew  ?    Good  gracious  !  what'll  I  dew  ? 

Alex. — None  of  your  nonsense,  now ;  I  understand 
you,  and  if  you  raise  any  more  noise  I'll  give  you  a 
beating. 

Hez. — (Shouting) — Oh,  gracious  !  let  me  eout  I  Land* 
lord !     Landlord ! 

Alex. — Stop  your  noise,  I  say.  You  are  a  pick> 
pocket ;  I  know  you  are.  and  I'll  have  you  arrested  if 
you  don't  clear  out. 

Hez. — Oh,  he's  gittin'  wusser  and  wusser !  I  wish  I 
had  stayed  to  hum.  (Knock  at  door.  Opened  by  Alex. 
Enter  Landlord  and  others.) 

Landlord — What's  the  meaning  of  this  rumpus? 

Hez. — Yeou've  put  a  crazy  man  in  here  with  ma 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  191 

It  ie  awful.  I'm  scared  tew  death.  He  has  tried  to 
ketch  me.     Oh,  it  is  dreadful ! 

Alex. — There's  not  a  word  of  truth  in  that,  and  he 
knows  it.  I  am  aware  of  his  true  character.  He  is 
one  of  the  many  pickpockets  that  Avere  on  the  fair- 
grounds to-day.  Look  out  for  your  pockets !  He  is 
only  trying  to  get  up  an  excitement  to  get  a  crowd 
gathered  around. 

Hez. — That's  allers  the  way  crazy  people  talk.  I 
read  abeout  him  in  the  papers,  and  I've  hearn  people 
talk  abeout  him,  and  he  answers  tew  the  description 
exactly.  I  tell  yeou,  yeou'd  better  look  eout.  He  may 
do  a  great  deal  of  mischief 

Alex. — (7b  Landlord) — Don't  mind  him,  he  is 
frightened  about  nothing.  I  doubt  not  you  have 
heard  of  me.  My  name  is  Alexander  Addison,  and  I 
flatter  myself  that  I  do  not  act  very  much  like  a  mad- 
man. 

Landlord — (To  Hez.) — My  friend,  I  think  you  have 
become  frightened  unnecessarily.  And  (To  Alex.)  I 
think  you  wrong  the  gentleman  wlien  you  accuse  him 
of  being  a  pickpocket.  My  advice  is,  make  friends 
again,  and  sit  down  and  rest  yourselves. 

Alex. — No,  sir ;  I  do  not  choose  to  room  with  a  man 
who  has  insulted  me  by  saying  that  I  look  like  a  crazy 
person.     I'll  sleep  in  the  street  first. 

Hez. — Wall,  I  don't  keer  where  yeou  sleep,  but  I'm 
mighty  sartin  yeou'll  not  sleep  with  me.  Yeou  may 
be  all  right  abeout  the  upper  story,  but  I  doubt  it  the 
blamedest. 

Alex. — Be  careful,  greeny,  or  I'll  knock  you  down. 

Hez. — Then; !  T  tolfl  yeou  he  warn't  square  ;  the  fit's 
comin'  on  agin.  Better  git  him  away  as  quick  as 
possible. 


192  STERLING  DIALOGUES 

Alex. — Dunce !  I  will  go.  I  don't  wish  to  be  in 
the  same  house  with  such  a  scarey  youth. 

Landlord — Stay,  I  think  I  can  accommodate  you. 
And  ( To  Pat  Mulravey,  who  came  in  with  the  Land- 
lord) stranger,  as  you  wanted  lodging,  I  think  I  can 
accommodate  you,  too.  {To  Hez.)  This  gentleman 
came  in  a  few  minutes  ago.  I  will  let  him  room  with 
you  to-night,  and  I  hope  you  will  get  along  smoothly. 

Hez. — {Aside) — He's  a  rough-looking  customer.  {To 
Landlord.)  I'll  try  and  endoor  him. 

Pat — What's  that  ye  say,  ye  blackguard  ?  Endoor 
me !  Be  the  howly  St.  Patrick,  I  giss  I'll  have  to  do 
all  the  endoorin.  Ye'r  a  mighty  outspoken  chap, 
onyhow,  and  I've  a  mind  to  give  ye  a  tap  on  the  nose 
jist  to  bring  ye  to  yer  sinsis. 

Hez. — I  beg  yeour  parding,  sir ;  it  was  a  mere  slip 
of  the  tongue. 

Pat — Well,  be  mighty  careful  not  to  let  yer  tongue 
slip  again  or  be  the  powers  I'll  give  it  a  twist  that  will 
sthop  it  av  slippin'. 

Landlord — It  seems  that  you  can  get  along  together, 
and  so  I  will  leave  you. 

Pat — Niver  fear  about  that,  Mr.  Landlord ;  we'll  git 
along  first  rate.  This  is  a  nice  enough  feller,  on'y  a 
little  scarey  about  crazy  people. 

[^Exit  Landlord,  Alexander,  and  others. 

Pat — {Aside) — Be  the  powers,  I'll  give  him  a  scare 
worth  talkin  about.  I'll  act  the  crazy  man  a  dale  of  a 
sight  better'n  that  other  feller  did,  and  if  I  don't  scare 
him  right,  thin  my  name  isn't  Pat  Mulravey.  (7b 
Hez.)  Me  name  is  Pat  Mulravey.  And  what  is  your 
name? 

Hez. — Hezekiah  Scruggins,  at  yeour  sarvice,  sir. 

Pat — Hezekiah  Scruggins,  at  ye'r  sarvice,  sir  I    Well, 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  19Jl 

that's  a  mighty  long  name.  I'll  call  ye  Scrooggins  for 
short.  Yez  thought  that  was  a  crazy  feller,  didn't 
yez? 

Hez. — Yaas,  I  had  hearn  tell  that  thar  was  a  crazy 
man  loose,  and  I  had  read  abeout  him,  and  as  the 
feller  answered  tew  the  description  I  thought  he  must 
be  the  one. 

Pat — Faix,  I  am  the  crazy  feller — I  im  that,  mesilf 
I  am  as  crazy  as  iver  Nickey  Mulrooney  was.  Nickey 
Mulrooney  lived  in  the  town  av  Cork  and  was  a  broth 
av  a  boy. 

Hez. — Pooh !  Yeou  air  tryin  tew  frighten  me.  I 
rayther  guess  I'll  not  be  so  much  alarmed  ag'in. 

Pat — (Aside) — I'll  fetch  him  yet,  see  if  I  don't.  (7b 
Hez.)  I'm  a  rale  pacible  b'y  until  the  spill  comes 
upon  me  and  thin  I  git  mighty  obstepeevious. 

Hez. — Obstepeevious  !  what  is  that  ? 

Pat — I'll  tell  ye,  sir.  Whin  a  b'y  gits  obstepeevious 
fj/i!  can  do  most  onything ;  he  can  fight,  run,  jump, 
knock  fellers  down  and  tear  round  like  the  very  old 
Nick.     I  am  an  Irishman,  sir. 

Hez. — I  supposed  yeou  were.  The  Irish  air  a  clever 
people. 

Pat — Faix,  and  ye'r  right  there,  and  they're  a 
mighty  smashin  set  too  whin  they  get  into  the  smashin 
humor.  That  crazy  Nickey  Mulrooney  I  was  tellin 
yez  of,  he  could  fling  four  or  five  b'ys  out  av  a  third 
story  windy  before  breakfast  in  the  marnin,  and  make 
nothin  av  it,  sir.  And  I  tell  ye  he  made  things  sthand 
around  whin  he  got  into  a  bit  av  a  shindy.  Be  the 
powers,  I  feel  mesilf  gittin  a  little  obstepeevious  whin 
I  think  about  it,  and  I've  a  kind  of  a  notion  jist  to  thry 
and  show  ye  how  he  made  things  jingle  whin  the 
«phell  wag  on  him. 


194  STERLING    DIALOGUES 

Hez. — Oh,  Mr.  Mulravey,  )'eou  needn't  dew  that  1  I'll 
^.ake  yeour  word  for  it.  {Aside.)  Good  gracious !  1 
believe  he  is  a  crazy  man.  But  I  don't  like  to  run 
away.  Jemimy  Wiggins  allers  said  I  was  a  skeery 
feller,  but  I'll  try  and  be  brave  on  this  occasion ;  I'll 
stand  and  face  the  danger. 

Pat — Be  the  powers,  that  snakin  landlord  shan't  git 
in  here  any  more.  He's  an  ugly  blackguard,  onyhow, 
and  I'll  kape  him  from  sthickin  his  nose  into  this 
place. 

Hez. — Oh,  dear !  he  has  locked  the  door.  I  wonder 
if  he  isn't  only  tryin  tew  frighten  me.  But  he  looks 
desp'rit.  (To  Pat.)  Why  did  yeou  lock  the  door,  Mr. 
Mulravey  ? 

Pat — That  oogly  landlord  shan't  coom  a  walkin  in 
here  jist  whiniver  we  git  up  a  little  breeze.  I'll  larn  him 
better  than  to  do  that.  Faix,  and  I  will.  You  and  me 
may  have  a  bit  av  a  shindy  soon  and  it'll  be  betther 
to  kape  that  blackguard  av  a  landlord  on  the  outside. 
Don't  ye  think  so,  Mr.  Scrooggins  ? 

Hez. — Wall,  neow,  tew  tell  yeou  the  truth  abeout  the 
matter,  Mr.  Mulravey,  I'd  prefer  to  have  the  door  un- 
locked. 

Pat — And  I'd  prefer  to  have  it  locked,  and  shure  that's 
jist  where  we  differ,  Misther  Scrooggins.  I  feel  about 
as  sthrong  as  a  forty  horse  ingine  and  I  giss  I'll  be  boss 
on  this  occasion.  (Pat  gets  up  on  a  chair  and  crows  like 
a  rooster.)  Whoop  !  This  is  better  than  Donnybrook 
fair.  This  is  the  hist  fair  I've  been  at  in  the  whole 
blissid  counthry.  (S?iouts.)  Hurra !  I  want  to  knock 
somebody  down.     Hurra  for  a  bit  av  a  shindy  ! 

Hez. — {Aside) — Oh.  gracious!  he  must  be  crazy!  I 
wish  Mr.  Addison  had  stayed  here. 

Pat — Come  here,  me  darlint.  Let  us  have  a  bit  av 
a  jig.     Ain't  yez  a  thripper  ? 


STERLING    DIALOGUES  196 

Hez. — No,  no ;  keep  o&\  I  don't  want  yeou  tew  touch 
me.     Go  and  dance  by  yeourself, 

PAT--Faix,  an'  I  can't  do  that.  It's  agin  the  natur 
of  the  Mulraveys  to  dance  alone  whin  there's  a  foine- 
lookin  famale  about.  Come,  Miss  Scrooggins,  let  us 
have  a  dance. 

Hez. — Oh,  no,  no !     Keep  off  or  I'll  shout. 

Pat — Shout!  An  what  good  will  shoutin  do,  I'd 
like  to  know.  Faix,  the  landlord  is  down  in  the  first 
sthory  and  ye  might  yill  for  an  hour  and  he  wouldn't 
hear  anything  at  all,  at  all. 

Hez. — I'll  burst  the  door  open  if  yeou  don't  stop 
bothering  me. 

Pat — Burst  the  door  open  !  Ye  blackguard,  ye  can't 
do  that  while  I've  got  an  arrum  on  me  neck  and  a 
head  on  me  showlder.  Shure  I  could  knock  ye  into 
the  middle  of  Janewary  afore  ye'd  know  what  I  was 
about. 

Hez. — (Aside) — Oh,  if  I  was  eout  of  this  scrape  I'd 
start  for  hum  on  the  double  quick.  (To  Pat.)  Can't 
yeou  sit  deown  for  a  while  ?  I  am  tired  and  I  think  yeou 
ought  tew  be  too. 

Pat — Be  two  !  Be  me  sowl,  it's  as  much  as  I  can  do 
to  be  one.  But  if  ye  bees  tired,  Mr.  Scrooggins,  sit 
down  and  I'll  sit  on  top  av  yez.  There  is  only  one 
substantial  chair  an'  I  wouldn't  be  mindin  me  manners 
if  I'd  sit  on  it  and  let  ye  squat  on  the  flure  by  yersilf. 
(In  a  lovd  voice.)  Sit  down,  Mr.  Scrooggins,  sit  down. 
D'ye  mind  me  now?  Bedad  if  yez  don't  sit  down  I'll 
sthrike  ye  a  lick  abowt  the  middle  and  knock  ye  clane 
out  av  the  windy. 

Hez, — (Situ  on  floor) — Wall,  I'll  sit  deown  to  accom- 
modate yeou.     I  hope  yeou'll  be  quiet  neow. 

Pat — (Aside)—  Faix,  I've  got  him  purty  badly  scared 


196  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

i  giss  I'd  betther  boost  him  up  a  little  and  give  nim  a 
run  around  the  ring.  (To  Hez.)  Mr.  Scrooggins,  git 
up.  Yez  has  got  to  act  "  Black  Hawk  "  and  I'll  be 
"  Mazeppa  "  and  we'll  tear  round  the  track  jist  as  the 
horses  did  to-day  at  the  fair.     Won't  that  be  fun? 

Hez. — (Aside) — Oh,  how  crazy  he  is !  But  he  doesn't 
3eem  disposed  tew  dew  anything  desp'rit,  and  so  I  had 
better  humor  him.     (Gets  up.) 

Pat — Now,  thin,  Mr.  Scrooggins,  yez  may  run  once 
around  the  track,  thin  I'll  set  in  and  go  it  like  lightnin. 
I  giss  it  would  be  betther,  Mr.  Scrooggins,  for  ye  to 
purtind  to  be  ridin  the  Black  Hawk  horse,  and  I'll  be 
ridin  Mazeppa,  and  thin  we  can  holler  at  thim  and 
lick  thim  up  and  make  thim  sthreak  it.  Won't  that 
be  betther,  Mr.  Scrooggins  ? 

Hez. — Yes,  anything  to  please  yeou,  Mr.  Mulravey. 
But  hadn't  yeou  better  unlock  the  door  before  yeou 
commence  ? 

Pat— Unlock  the  door,  ye  spalpeen ?  No,  sir;  don't 
ye  know  the  horses  might  run  out  av  the  ring  if  the 
door  was  open?  Bedad  an  I  don't  want  the  horses  to 
git  away.  Now,  Mr.  Scrooggins,  ye  are  to  ride  Black 
Hawk.  Git  on  and  make  him  go  his  bist,  and  I'll  be 
afther  ye  in  a  twinklin.  I'll  give  yez  the  word.  Go  ! 
(Hezekiah  commences  to  run  around  the  room.  Pat  stands 
in  the  centre  and  shouts.)  He'p !  Hi !  Git !  Faster,  ye 
lazy  ould  blackguard  !  Go  it,  now !  Bedad,  ye  can't 
trot  worth  a  cint.  (Hezekiah  after  running  a  few  times 
round  the  room  stops  almost  out  of  breath.) 

Hez. — I  thought  yeou  was  a  goin  tew  ride  a  boss 
tew. 

Pat — An  so  I  am,  me  darlint.  But  I  want  to  git 
ould  Black  Hawk  perty  well  run  down  afore  I  set  in. 
Now  go  it  again.     (Pat  shouts.    Hezekiah  commences 


STERLING   DIALOGUES  197 

to  Tun  again?)  Git  up,  Black  Hawk,  ye  lazy  ould  black* 
guard  !  H'ep  !  Hi !  Git  along !  Go  it !  Limber  out,  ye  stiff 
ould  spalpeen!  Mr.  Scrooggins,  ye  must  holler  at  yer 
horse  and  purtind  to  be  a  lickin  him.  (Hezekiah 
shouts  and  motions  as  if  whipping  his  horse.) 

Hez.— Hi !  Git  eout !  Wake  up,  Black  Hawk !  G'lang ! 

Pat — Now,  old  Mazeppa,  we'll  go  in.  (Follows  after 
Hezekiah,  shouting)  Hi !  Go  it,  ye  blackguard  !  He'p ! 
Hi !  Git  along !  Be  jabers  this  is  the  biggest  kind  o' 
fun !  Hi !  Go  it,  Scrooggins  !  I'm  gainin  on  yez !  Hi !  Git 
along,  Scrooggins  !  {Noise  at  door.\ 

Landlord — (Speaks  outside) — What  is  the  meaning 
of  all  this  noise  ?     Open  the  door. 

Pat — Don't  mind  him,  Scrooggins.  (TJiey  continue 
running.)  Hi!  Git  along  there,  ye  blackguard!  Hi! 
Ho !     Ye'r  comin  in  on  the  home-stretch  now.     Hi ! 

Landlord — (Shouting) — Open  the  door,  I  say ;  open 
It  instantly ! 

Pat — Scrooggins,  go  it!  Ye'r  ould  Black  Hawk  is 
givin  out.  Go  it !  Hi !  Be  the  powers  I'm  going  to 
mn  the  race.     Hi ! 

Landlord — (Shouts  again) — Open  the  door,  I  say,  of 
[HI  have  you  arrested.  (They  stop  running.) 

Pat — Scrooggins,  darlint,  the  people  bees  comin  to 
see  the  race.  We'll  let  them  in  an  thin  we'll  go  it 
Jgain.  (Goes  to  open  tlie  door,) 

Hez. — (Comes  to  front  of  stage) — Oh,  gracious!  Oh, 
dear !  I'm  clean  run  deown.  (Panting.)  I'm  all  eout  of 
breath.    Oh,  dear  I    (I* at  opens  door.    Enter  JjA'sulord.) 

Landlord — What  is  the  moaning  of  all  this  noise? 
Vou  have  alarmed  tlie  whole  liouse. 

Pat — Faix,  we've  been  bavin  a  jolly  time;  it  wint 
laead  av  Donnybrook  fair.  Me  and  Scrooggins  has 
>een  ridin  around  the  ring.     He  rid  I^lack  Hawk  and  I 


X98  STERLING   DIALOGUES 

rid  Mazeppa.  Ob,  how  we  did  make  thim  horses  spiix 
We  were  jist  comin  in  on  the  home-stretch.  I  tell  yez, 
that  Mazeppa  is  a  darlint ! 

Landlord— Well,  sir,  I  don't  choose  to  have  my 
room  changed  into  a  race-course.  One  of  you  musi 
leave. 

Kez.— (Still  panting)— V\\  go !  I'll  go !  I  wouldn't 
stay  here  over  night  for  a  thousand  dollars — by  hokey, 
I  wouldn't ! 

'Pat— {Aside)— Be  jabers,  ould  Black  Hawk's  about 
give  out.  (To  Hez.)  Me  darlint,  I'd  like  ye'd  sthay. 
Ye  are  a  spinner  to  run,  and  I'd  like  to  see  ye  go  it 
again. 

Hez. — No !  no !  I'll  not  stay  !  I'd  as  leave  stay  in 
a  lunatic  asylum.  ( To  Landlord.)  Better  look  eout 
for  him;  he's  a  rail  crazy  tick. 

[Exit  Hezekiah. 
Pat— (To  Landlord) — Be   jabers,  that's    a    badly 
scared  b'y.     He  thought  that  other  man  was  a  mad- 
man, and  I  took  a  notion  I'd  be  afther  showin  him 
what  a  rale  madman  was. 

Landlord — Yes,  and  you  have  aroused  all  my 
2odgers.  But  I'll  forgive  you  if  you  go  to  bed  and  keep 
quiet  the  rest  of  the  night. 

Pat— Faix,  and  I'll  do  that,  fur  I'm  mighty  tired 
'fter  batin  old  Sweepstakes. 

lExii  LandlorIa 


JSntertainment  Books  for  Yoang  People 

Choice  Humor 

By  Cheirle^  C.  Shoem&ker 

For  Reading  and  Recitation 
To  prepare  a  book  of  humor  that  shall  be  free  from  anything 
that  is  coarse  or  vulgar  on  the  one  hand,  and  avoid  what  is  flat  and 
insipid  on  the  other,  is  the  difficult  task  which  the  compiler  set  for 
himself,  and  which  he  has  successfully  accomplished.  The  book 
has  been  prepared  with  the  utmost  care,  and  it  will  be  found  as 
interesting  and  attractive  for  private  reading  as  it  is  valuable  for 

public  entertainment. 
V- 

Choice  Dia^Iect 

By  Chislej"  C.  Shoem&ker 

For  Reading  and  Recitation 
This  book  will  be  found  to  contain  a  rare  and  valuable  collec- 
tion of  Irish,  German,  Scotch,  French,  Negro,  and  other  dialects, 
and  to  represent  every  phase  of  sentiment  from  the  keenest  humor 
or  the  tenderest  pathos  to  that  which  is  strongly  dramatic.  It 
affords  to  the  amateur  reader  and  the  professional  elocutionist  the 
largest  scope  for  his  varied  abilities,  and  is  entirely  free  from  any- 
thing that  would  offend  the  most  refined  taste. 


Choice  Dialogues 

By  Mry.  J.  W.  Shoem&.ker 

For  School  and  Social  Entertainment 

Entirely  new  and  original.  The  topics  have  been  arranged  on  a 
comprehensivi;  plan,  with  reference  to  securing  the  greatest  possi- 
ble variety,  and  tlie  inaitur  has  been  specially  prepared  by  a  corps 
of  alile  writers,  their  aijn  being  to  secure  loftiness  of  conception, 
purity  of  tone,  and  adaplahility  to  the  needs  of  amateurs.  It  is  an 
all-round  dialogue  book,  being  suited  to  children  and  adults,  and 
to  Sunday-schools  and  day-schools.  It  is  conceded  to  be  one  of  the 
best  dialogue  books  in  print. 


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Entertainment  Books  for  Young  People 

Comic  Dialogue./ 

By  John  R.  Dennis 

This  is  the  something  "real  funny,"  which  every  boy  and  girl 
prefers,  but  there  is  nothing  coarse  in  it.  It  is  suitable  for  school  or 
church  use  anywhere.  The  dialogues  are  arranged  for  from  two  to  a 
dozen  or  more  children.  A  few,  like  "  Vilikens  "  and  "  The  Head- 
less Horseman,"  employ  music.  "  Our  Lysander"  is  a  real  little 
play.  Some  ofthe  dialogues  are:  Innocents  Abroad,  Artist's  Dream, 
Aunt  Dinah  and  Columbus,  Taking  the  Census,  Strictly  Confiden- 
tial,  etc. 


Humorous  Dialogues  and  Dramas 

By  Cheo-ley  C.  Shoem&.ker 

If  there  is  anything  more  enjoyable  than  a  humorous  reading  or 
recitation  it  is  a  keen,  pointed,  humorous  dialogue.  Thecompiler, 
with  the  largest  resources  and  widest  experience  in  literature  for 
entertainment  purposes,  has  produced  one  of  the  rarest,  brightest, 
jolliest  books  ot  mirth-provoking  dialogues  ever  published.  Much 
ofthe  matter  was  prepared  especially  for  this  work.  The  dialogues 
are  adapted  to  old  and  young  of  both  sexes,  and  while  often  keenly 
witty,  are  wholly  free  from  coarseness  and  vulgarity. 


Classic  Dialogues  arid  dramas 

By  Mr^.  J.  W.  Shoemivker 

This  unique  work  will  prove  not  only  interesting  and  profitable 
for  purposes  of  public  and  social  entertainment,  but  also  instruct- 
ive and  valuable  for  private  reading  and  study.  The  book  com- 
prises popular  scenes  judiciously  selected  from  the  plays  of  Shakes- 
peare, Sheridan,  Bulwer,  Schiller,  and  other  dramatists,  and  each 
dialogue  is  so  arranged  as  to  be  complete  in  itself  Many  of  the 
exercises  may  be  given  as  readings  or  recitals,  and  will  prove 
acceptable  to  audiences  of  the  highest  culture  and  refinement. 


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Entertainment  Books  for  Young  People 

Sterling  DI&.lo£(ues 

By  Williii.m  M.  Clark 

The  dialogues  comprising  this  volume  have  been  chosen  from  a 
large  store  of  material.  The  contributions  are  from  the  pens  of 
the  most  gifted  writers  in  this  field  of  literature,  and  the  topics  are 
so  varied  and  comprehensive  that  they  are  readily  adapted  to  the 
needs  of  Schools,  Academies,  and  Literary  Societies.  They  are 
especially  suited  for  Social  Gatherings  and  Home  Amusement,  as 
the  stapine  required  is  simple  and  easily  obtained. 


Model  Dialogues 

By  Williivin  M.  Clark 

The  dialogues  comprising  this  collection  have  been  contributed 
by  over  thirty  of  America's  best  writers  in  this  field  of  literature. 
They  represent  every  variety  of  sentiment  and  emotion,  from  the 
extremely  humorous  to  the  pathetic.  Every  dialogue  is  full  of  life 
and  action  ;  the  subjects  are  well  chosen,  and  are  so  varied  as  to 
suit  all  grades  of  performers.  The  book  is  especially  adapted  for 
School  Exhibitions,  Literary  Societies,  and  Sunday-school  and 
Social  Gatherings. 


Standard  Di&.lo^ues 

By  Rev.  Alexander  Cl&rk,  A.  M. 

The  author's  name  is  a  guaranty  of  the  excellence  of  this  book. 
His  long  experience  as  a  lecturer  before  Teachers'  Institutes,  and 
his  close  study  of  tlie  teachers'  needs,  his  lofty  ideals  of  education 
and  of  life,  his  refinement  of  taste,  diversity  of  attainment,  and 
versatility  of  expression,  all  combine  to  qualify  him  in  an  eminent 
degree  for  the  prep^iration  of  such  a  volume.  For  both  teacher 
and  entertailier  this  book  has  special  points  of  merit,  as  the  dia- 
logues are  interesting  as  well  as  instructive. 

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Matertalnment  Books  for  Toung  People 

Schoolday  Dialogues 

By  Rev.  Alexander  Cleurk,  A.  M. 

This  book  of  dialogues,  prepared  for  use  in  School  Enter- 
tainments, furnishes  great  diversity  of  sentiment  and  diction. 
Although  for  the  most  part  composed  of  serious  or  pathetic  subject- 
matter,  there  will  be  found  many  humorous  dialogues  and  much 
good  material  for  the  little  folks,  as  well  as  for  the  older  ones. 
The  staging  and  costuming  are  of  the  simplest  character,  and  are 
so  fully  described  as  to  make  the  task  of  preparation  quite  easy, 
even  for  the  novice. 


Popular  Dialogues 

By  Phine&s  Gtirrett 

The  author's  large  experience  in  the  Entertainment  and  Amuse- 
ment field  has  qualified  him  for  the  preparation  ot  a  book  of 
unusual  merit.  No  work  of  this  kind  more  fully  meets  the  popu- 
lar demand  for  interesting  and  refined  entertainment.  In  this 
collection  will  be  found  dialogues  to  suit  every  occasion,  either  for 
public  entertainment  or  for  a  social  evening  at  home.  Humor  and 
pathos  are  pleasantly  blended,  and  provision  is  made  for  the 
wants  of  the  young  and  the  old,  the  grave  and  the  gay,  the  expe- 
rienced and  the.ioexperienced. 


£xcelsior  Dialogues 

By  Phine&.s  Garrett 

This  book  is  composed  of  original  dialogues  and  colloquies 
designed  for  students  in  Schools  and  Academies,  and  prepared 
expressly  for  this  work  by  a  corps  of  professional  teachers  and 
writers.  Comedy  and  tragedy  are  provided  in  due  proportion, 
and  the  moral  tone  of  the  work  is  of  the  highest  order.  Teachers 
will  here  find  just  the  material  for  which  they  have  been  search- 
ing, something  with  plot  enough  to  hold  the  attention  and  that 
will  command  the  best  efforts  of  the  older  pupils. 

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Entertainment  Books  for  Yonng  People 

Fancy  Drills  and  Marche*/* 

By  Alice  M.  Kellogg 

Children  enjoy  drills,  and  this  is  the  most  successful  drill  book 
ever  published.  It  has  more  than  fifty  new  ideas— drills,  marches, 
motion  songs  and  action  pieces.  Among  them  are  a  Sifter  Drill, 
Ribbon  March  with  Grouping  and  Posing,  Pink  Eose  Drill,  Christ- 
mas Tree  Drill,  Delsarte  Children,  Zouave  Drill,  Wreath  Drill 
and  March,  Glove  Drill,  Tambourine  Drill,  March  of  the  Red, 
White  and  Blue.  Teachers  will  be  especially  pleased  with  the 
care  given  to  the  exercises  for  the  smaller  children.  All  of  the 
drillaiire  fully  illustrated. 


Ided.1  Drills 

By  M2>,rguerite  W.  Morton 

This  book  contains  a  collection  of  entirely  new  and  original 
drills,  into  which  are  introduced  many  unique  and  effective 
features.  The  fullest  descriptions  are  given  for  the  successful  pro- 
duction of  the  drills,  and  to  this  end  nearly  100  diagrams  have 
been  inserted  showing  the  different  movements.  Everything  is 
made  so  clear  that  anyone  can  use  the  drills  without  the  slightest 
difficulty.  Among  the  more  popular  and  pleasing  drills  are  :  The 
Brownie,  Taper,  Maypole,  Rainbow,  Dumb-hell,  Butterfly,  Sword, 
flower.  Ring,  Scarf,  Flag,  and  Swing  Song  and  Drill. 


Eureka  Bntertainments 

The  title  of  this  volume  expresses  in  a  nutshell  the  character  of 
Hb  contents.  The  weary  searcher  after  material  for  any  kind  of 
entertainment  will,  upon  examination  of  this  book,  at  once 
exclaim,  "1  have  found  it."  Here  is  just  wliat  is  wanted  for  use 
in  day-school,  Sunday-school,  at  church  socials,  teas,  and  other 
festivals,  for  parlor  or  fireside  amusement,  in  fact,  for  all  kinds  of 
school  or  home,  public  or  private  entertainments.  The  work  is 
characterized  by  freshness  and  originality  throughout. 


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Entertainment  Books  for  Young  People 

Special  Day  Exerciser* 

By  Amos  M.  Kellogg 

Almost  every  week  iu  the  school  year  has  its  birthday  of  a 
national  hero  or  a  great  writer.  Washington,  Michael  Angelo, 
Shakespeare,  Longfellow,  Holmes,  Browning  and  Emerson  are 
among  those  the  children  learn  to  know  from  this  book.  The  holi- 
days, Easter,  Christmas,  Thanksgiving,  Memorial  Day  are  not  for- 
gotten ;  and  in  between  are  many  happy  suggestions  for  tree  plant- 
ing, for  bird  and  flojver  lessons,  and  debates. 


Christmas  Selections 

By  Rosamond  Livingstone  McN:)>.ught 

For  Readings  and  Recitations 
Sunday  schools,  day  schools,  the  home  circle,  all  demand  ma- 
terial for  Christmas  entertainments,  and  all  want  something  new 
and  appropriate.  This  book  contains  just  what  is  wanted,  l.very 
piece  is  absolutely  new,  not  a  single  one  having  previously  been 
published  iu  any  book.  It  contains  recitations,  in  prose  and 
poetry,  for  every  coucei\  able  kind  of  public  or  private  entertain- 
ment at  Christmas  time. 


Holiday  Selections 

By  Sara  Sigoumey  Rice 

For  Raadings  and  Recitations 
The  selections  in  this  volume  are  adapted  to  all  the  difierent 
holidays  of  the  year  and  are  classified  accordingly.  Fully  half  of 
the  pieces  are  for  Christmas,  but  ample  provision  is  also  made  for 
New  Year's,  St.  Valentine's  Day,  Washington's  Birthday,  Easter, 
Arbor  Day,  Decoration  Day,  Fourth  of  July,  and  Thanksgiving.  ,' 

The  pieces  are  unusually  bright,  and  the  variety  under  each  holi-         ' 
day  will  afford  the  fullest  opportunity  for  a  satisfactory  choice;         ' 
the  older  students  and  the  little  ones  alike  will  find  something 
Buite.d  to  their  different  degrees  of  ability^ 


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I 


Entertainment  Books  for  Young  Peo}opl€ 

Holiday  Entertainments 

By  ChstLflej  C.  Shoemaker 

Absolutely  new  and  original.  There  are  few  things  more  popu 
lar  during  the  holiday  season  than  Entertainments  and  Exhibi- 
tions,  and  there  is  scarcely  anything  more  ditticult  to  procure  than 
new  and  meritorious  material  appropriate  for  such  occasions  , 
This  book  is  made  up  of  short  dramas,  dialogues,  tableaux, 
recitations,  etc.,  introducing  many  novel  features  that  give  the 
spice  and  sparkle  so  desirable  for  such  occasions.  It  is  adapted  to 
the  full  round  of  holidays,  containing  features  especially  prepared 
for  Christmas,  New  Year's,  Washington's  Birthday,  Easter,  Deco- 
ration Day,  Fourtli  of  July,  and  Thanksgiving. 

Spring  and  Summer  School 
Celebration*/* 

By  Alice  M.  Kellogg 

This  book  shows  how  to  capture  "all  outdoors"  for  the  school 
room.  Every  warm  weather  lioliday,  including  May  Day, 
Memorial  Day,  Clo.sing  Day,  is  represented ;  for  each  the  book 
offers  from  ten  to  thirty  new  suggestions.  Tableaux,  pantomimes, 
recitations,  marches,  drills,  songs  aiul  special  programs,  provide 
exactly  the  right  kind  -^f  material  for  Spring  exercises  of  auy  sort. 
The  drills  and  action  i<ieces  are  fully  illustrated.  Everything  in 
the  book  has  been  csoecially  edited  and  arranged  for  it. 

Select  Speeches  for  Declamation 

By  John  H.  Bechtel 

This  book  contains  a  large  number  of  short  prose  pieces 
chosen  from  the  leading  writers  and  speakers  of  all  ages  and 
nations,  and  admirably  adapted  for  use  by  college  njen.  Only  the 
very  best,  from  a  large  store  of  choice  material,  was  selected  for 
this  work.  The  names  of  Demosthenes,  Livy,  Kossuth.  Bona- 
parte, Chatham,  Burke,  Macaulay,  Hugo,  Gladstone,  Washington, 
Jefferson,  Garfield,  Ilnrrison,  Wel>ster,  Everett,  IMiillips,  Curtis, 
Blaine,  Beeclier,  Grady,  Cleveland,  McKinley,  and  Depew  may 
serve  to  suggest  the  standard  of  the  selections. 

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A^  atertainment  Books  for  Vonng  People 

^per&nce  Selections 

By  John  H.  Bechtel 

For  Readings  and  Recitations 

US  have  been  taken  from  the  utterances  of  pulpit 

tie  speeches  of  political  leaders,  and  from  the  pens 

^.    They  depict  the  life  of  the  drunkard,  point  out 

.innings  of  vice,  and  illustrate  the  growth  of  the  habit 

after  another  is  sipped  amid  the  pleasures  and  gayeties 

life.    This  volume  appeals  to  human  intelligence,  and 

ivords  of  truth  andjirisdom  that  cannoi  be  gainsaid. 

/       Sunday-School  Selections 

/  By  John  H.  Bechtel 

For  Readings  and  Recitations 
This  volume  contains  about  150  selections  of  unusual  merit. 
Among  them  something  will  be  found  adapted  to  every  occasion 
aid  condition  where  a  choice  reading  or  recitation  may  be  wanted. 
Suitable  provision  has  been  made  for  the  Church  Social,  the  Sun- 
day-school Concert,  Teachers'  Gatherings,  Christian  Endeavor 
Societies,  Anniversary  occasions,  and  every  assemblage  of  a  relig- 
ious or  spiritual  character.  Besides  its  value  for  readings  and 
recitations,  the  pastor  will  find  much  in  it  to  adorn  his  sermon, 
and  the  superintendent  points  by  which  to  illustrate  the  Sunday- 
school  lesson. 

Sunday-School  Entertainments 

All  new  and  original.  The  demand  for  a  book  of  pleasing  and 
appropriate  Sunday-school  entertainments  is  here  supplied.  The 
articles  are  largely  in  the  nature  of  dialogues,  tableaux,  recita- 
tions, concert  pieces,  motion  songs,  dramatized  Bible  stories,  and 
responsive  exercises,  all  based  upon  or  illustrating  some  Biblical 
truth.  Special  care  has  been  taken  to  make  provision  for  such 
occasions  as  Christmas,  New  Year's,  Easter,  Thanksgiving,  and 
the  full  round  of  celebrations,  so  that  no  time  or  season  is  with- 
out a  subv?ct. 

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Entertainmeat  Books  for  Yoang  People 

Money   M&.kin^   Entertainments 

By  Lizzie  J.  Rook  and  Mrs.  E.  J.  H.  Goodfellow 

There  is  no  better  way  to  raise  money  for  church,  school,  or  be- 
nevolent  purposes  than  by  means  of  entertainments.  This  unique 
volume  contains  a  great  abundance  of  new  and  original  material 
especially  prepared  for  such  occasions  by  two  writers  of  wide  ex- 
perience in  this  line  of  work.  In  addition  to  the  money  making 
features  there  is  also  a  large  variety  of  entertainments  and  socials 
for  home  use. 


Tableaux,  Charades,  and  Pantomimes 

This  attractive  volume  is  adapted  alike  to  Parlor  Entertain- 
ments, School  and  Church  Exhibitions,  and  for  use  on  the  Amateur 
Stage.  The  department  of  Tableaux  is  unusually  complete.  Only 
such  scenes  as  can  be  produced  with  the  smallest  number  of 
auxiliaries  have  been  selected.  Tableaux,  with  readings  from 
standard  authors,  form  a  very  attractive  feature,  as  do  also  the 
statuary  scenes.  The  volume  has  recently  been  enlarged  by  the 
addition  of  a  number  of  new  and  original  charades,  which  add 
greatly^to  tlje  attractiveness  of  the  book. 


School  and  Parlor  Comedies 

By  B.  L.  C.  Griffith 

The  dialogue  is  so  spirited  that  the  lines  almost  play  themselves, 
8o  that  the  plays  are  sure  to  be  acceptable  even  in  the  hands  of 
only  fairly  competent  performers.  The  situations  are  ingenious, 
and  the  plots  are  such  as  command  the  attention  of  an  audience  at 
the  outset  and  hold  it  until  the  last  line  is  givfu.  The  plays  differ 
widely  in  character,  thus  affording  an  unusual  variety.  The 
scenery  required  in  any  instance  is  not  difficult  and  may  be  easily 
arranged  in  the  class  room  or  in  the  private  parlor. 


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Bntertainmeni  Books  for  Tonne  People 

Monologues  and  Novelties 

By  B.  L.  C.  Griffith 

In  addition  to  the  large  number  of  new  and  original  monologues 
In  this  book,  it  contains  also  a  large  collection  of  other  features— 
■uch,  for  instance,  as  a  Shadow  Pantomime,  a  Chinese  Wedding, 
a  Recitation  with  Lesson  Help,  a  Play,  a  Monologue  in  Panto- 
mime, etc.  The  entertainments  vary  in  length  from  five  to 
twenty-five  minutes,  and  are  all  of  a  high  order  of  excellence.  The 
book  is  brim  full  of  the  choicest  and  most  artistic  forms  of  enter- 
tainment. 


Sketches,  Skits  and  Stunts 

By  John  T.  Mclntyre 

Good  vaudeville  material,  amateur  or  professional,  is  hard  to 
get.  This  book  contains  au  abundance  of  the  best  for  both 
classes,  all  written  to  order  by  one  who  knows  how  to  do  it  well. 
There  are  jokes,  monologues,  dialogues,  stories,  songs,  sketches, 
parodies,  short  farces,  and  talking  acts  of  the  rapid-flre  variety, 
all  constructed  for  strictly  laughing  purposes. 


How  to  Become  a  Public  Speaker 

By  William  Pittenger 

This  work  shows  in  a  simple  and  concise  way  how  any  person 
of  ordinary  perseverance  and  good  common  sense  may  become  a 
ready  and  effective  public  speaker.  lie  is  here  directed  how  to 
gather  thoughts,  how  to  arrange  them  to  the  best  advantage,  and 
how  to  form  clear  outlines.  He  is  then  told  how  to  overcome 
timidity,  how  to  secure  ease  and  fluency  of  language,  and  how  to 
acquire  such  a  mastery  of  the  arts  of  the  orator  as  will  give  him 
«»Aafidence  and  power. 


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